Mud, Debt and Fears
by Minerva Solo
Summary: Post OAV, Yohji finds himself lost without Weiss, and ends up befriending an old enemy in an attempt to remain sane. But will this friendship destroy his sanity instead? Re-editted and uploaded.
1. 1

Mud, Debt and Fears 

_A/N: I was daydreaming in English when a vision of a block of flats came to me. One of Anria's fics made me realise it was a perfect setting for a YoSchu. Well, I couldn't see any of the other characters being willing to live in such squalid settings. _

_This is set between the DP CDs and Gluhen, with the character designs 'evolving' somewhere in the middle. I mostly ignore the Schwarz drama CD, though you could use it to account for the missing members (Farf would be married, and Nagi with Kritiker) though it can't explain what Brad says. Basically, when I wrote this, I didn't know what was in the Schwarz Drama CD. Which is ironic, because I now know more that those CDs than the Weiss ones._

_This fic is 29,551 words long. That's about sixty pages on MS Word. So, yes, frighteningly long. I've had to split it up because it takes too long to upload otherwise. The chunks are rather uneven.__ You'll notice a few 'next's and 'previous's scattered throughout - basically, rather than re-edit the whole thing I took the appropriate edited chapters off my website, since I've gone through the whole thing since I last posted it here, breaking it down into more manageable chunks and sorting out a few bits. _

_Disclaimers: Yohji and Schu belong to the person who owns them. Who, alas, is not me. Ditto the cameo characters. _

_Warnings: yaoi, ridiculous length, angst, sap&fluff (I know, I know, they don't belong in a YoSchu), lime… This version is rated R, but an NC17 version can be found on my website (just look under my userinfo). _

_Thanks goes to: Anria, Alz-chan and Kami-chan, for Beta reading various versions and offering much needed advice! _

_"Blah" = speech. _

_'Blah' = thought / telepathy. No distinction, for reasons that, hopefully, will become clear._

It was a tall block of flats. They didn't even rate the word apartments. They were bedsits with a 'bathroom'. Cheap and nasty and cloned the world over. Whatever country you were in, whichever city, there'd be a block of flats like this, right down to the graffiti on the windowless wall of the ninth floor. 

The concrete living quarters had their own distinct aroma common to all buildings of this type. It was overpowering. Over cooked meals consisting primarily of leftovers, stews and hotpots and those miscellaneous dishes with names like Bubble and Squeak, which tell you nothing about what's in them, and an overtone of cabbage permeated every wall of the place. While these smells were unpleasant, on top of them were worse: vomit and urine and stale beer and cheap takeaways. Concrete and cinder block walls with too few windows made the whole place feel as cheap as it was. 

In a few places some enterprising landlord had painted the apartment doors, but had unfortunately chosen what was no doubt enticingly named chocolate brown, but was more accurately a shit brown. One or two walls had been whitewashed, but it was faded. The lumps of damp plaster it had been meant to cover had been ousted from the wall by the mildew and crumbled in sad piles on the cement stairs. 

There were twelve stories of misery on this particular building, and Yohji Kudoh lived right at the top. It was cheaper at the top. Neither lift worked, one stuck at ground floor and the other between floors four and five. The change in the stench as he passed between the two floors leant some credence to the urban legend that the unfortunate people who'd been in the lift when it had stuck over a decade ago were still there. 

Yohji knew these stairs by heart; he'd walked them so many times. He had read every piece of graffiti whilst waiting for other tenants to pass on the narrow staircase. On the sixth floor was the ambiguous message 'Teni lost count here'. Assuming the message referred to the number of steps, Yohji felt a degree of respect for the author of the note. He'd given up before he'd reached the third floor. 

His legs aching, his lungs heaving, his heart beating like a drum, Yohji finally reached the twelfth floor. He glanced around at the other six apartments on his level. Two had eviction notices pinned to the doors, one yellowing with months of neglect, the other new that day. On a third door was a square of brighter paint where an eviction notice had recently been removed. Interesting, a new neighbour. Yohji walked past it and shoved his key into the next door. After a few tries it fit, and the hinges groaned as he forced the chipboard portal inwards with one bruised shoulder. 

The room was small, even by Japanese standards. There was a single futon, barely wide enough even for Yohji, who'd gone from merely lanky to rather emaciated recently, an oven that only worked one out of every three attempts, a fridge that kept food at room temperature, a table with one leg a foot shorter than the others, a chair with a rotting back and a tiny bathroom, with the toilet and sink actually in the shower. Yohji kicked at the futon and a rat scurried out. Groaning, he dropped into one of the chairs. There was a crack, and he was sitting on the floor surrounded by firewood. He didn't bother to get up. 

There was a wail from next door, announcing the arrival of single teenaged mother Hiroko and her son Hiiro. The toddler was screaming and throwing a tantrum, and the girl was screaming and throwing a tantrum, and Yohji was surprised at his own capacity for tuning it all out. He flopped backward onto the futon, and lit a cigarette. The blue-grey smoke laced its way around the broken ceiling fan and curled across the ceiling to gather in the corners. Yohji coughed; a harsh, barking smoker's cough. 

There was a sudden bang on the other side, almost enough to make Yohji interested, but his apathy overtook him before he could gather the effort to getup and find out what was going on with the new tenant and he lay still, wondering vaguely if and when it would happen again. 

There was a loud knocking, and Yohji realised his new neighbour was going to join in the screaming with Hiroko and Hiiro. Baka. Fool. Idiot. He was going to be ripped to shreds by the petite fifteen year old. Of course, no guarantee it was a he. 

A fight did ensue, and Yohji frowned. It was muffled, but the newcomer was definitely male. Something about that voice, perhaps a bit nasal? It was hard to tell through the plasterboard walls. There was the sound of doors slamming, and Yohji heard his new neighbour muttering to himself in his own room. Some loud music slammed through the wall, and Yohji found himself treated to a barrage of German he didn't understand and, all things considered, probably didn't want to. Now the neighbour was singing along his voice was clearer. 

He tried to shake off the uneasy feeling. There were a lot of German people in Japan . Hundreds, maybe even thousands. And that building had collapsed into the sea. Sure, Weiss had got out alive… Nah, it almost certainly wasn't that carrot topped Nazi from Schwarz. 

The stereo sailed gracefully through one wall and slammed into the other, just above Yohji's head. He stared at the dent. 

"-_zi and it's red!"_ a voice bellowed. 

"My wall!" Hiroko wailed from the other side. 

This was enough to make Yohji sit up, and he stared straight into the next-door apartment. The stereo, now shattered on the futon, had left a fair sized hole in the cheap wall, and he could see the orange haired, German inhabitant of the neighbouring flat. The walls were two layers of plasterboard, some with insulation between, some with brick, and some, up here where there was no need to support anything but the roof, were as empty as the minds that lived between them. 

"It's not orange!" Schuldig yelled. "Red! Red!" 

"Kudoh Yohji, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Hiroko screamed. Yohji gave up staring through the wall and moved to open the door. He didn't have to, as Hiroko's incessant pounding snapped the rusted hinges and it crashed onto Yohji's legs. He yelped. 

Hiroko stared at him, aghast, and then spotted the hole in the wall. "Sorry," she muttered and strode next door. She hadn't even knocked when Schuldig flung open the door. 

"Was?" he growled in German, his voice dangerously low. 

"Are you going to pay for what you did to both Kudoh-kun's and my walls?" Hiroko demanded. "Do you have any idea what we'll be charged if the landlord sees the damage you-" her body sailed in a graceful arc to slam into the door opposite. Fortunately it was one of the untenanted flats. She whimpered. 

Yohji shoved the door off of his legs and leaped to his feet. Adrenaline began to flood his system, and for the first time in months he felt truly alive. That was Schuldig. Schuldig was Schwarz. He was bad. He'd just hit Hiroko (Yohji conveniently overlooked the number of times he'd wanted to do the same himself, but had lacked the courage). Snatching his watch from its honoured place around one of the gas rings on the cooker, he marched purposefully towards Schuldig's flat. 

God, it felt good to have a purpose again. No more languishing in a shoddy apartment, waiting for a call that could never come, as he didn't even have a phone. When he'd first come out of the hospital, he'd been confident Kritiker would contact him in a matter of days. He'd found a nice three-room apartment, and had been there a month when the landlord told him his credit was maxed out. He was no longer receiving a regular allowance from Kritiker. The news stunned Yohji. 

Still, he'd been expectant. Surely, they'd come for him. What else could happen? He was legally dead. He was a useful member of a field team. His skills were invaluable. He didn't have anywhere else to go. He'd found a much cheaper apartment and ended up working in a supermarket to cover costs. Unfortunately, the credit company decided they wanted repaying, and within another month the apartment was gone, and all the furniture Yohji had painstakingly saved for. 

This had gone on, for another three apartments, before Yohji ended up here. No real furniture, no phone, no TV or computer or stereo (although he planned to see if he could fix Schuldig's) or clock or cupboards or anything. Running water was sporadic. Electricity was optional, it seemed. The oven was just another place to store dented cans of past their sell-by-date beans and rice and other cheap food he got at a discount. He was still working at the supermarket, but his debts were swallowing more money than he could earn. The interest per month was more than he earned, and they kept on building. 

But if he took out Schuldig? Surely Kritiker would take him back then. If he took out Schwarz's telepath, one of the most dangerous men of the face of the earth? Surely… 

Schuldig was leaning in the doorway. He hadn't shaved for almost a week, his clothes were worn through and filthy and his hair was matted. Yohji unconsciously checked his own, lank and greasy and in desperate need of a cut. Schuldig's cough was an echo of Yohji's, and his skin was sallow and dry. 

And then Yohji looked him in the eye, trying to regain his faltering confidence, searching for some of that maliciousness he used to know. It was a mistake. Pain and hunger shone in those eyes, and the desperate battle against madness. Schuldig was in a worse state than he was. 

Yohji couldn't face it. He turned away, and helped Hiroko up. She was trembling, and young Hiiro was crying for her. Yohji gave her a hand up and a companionable pat on the shoulder, and she retreated to her own flat. Yohji glanced back at Schuldig, who was still slouched against the doorframe, and returned to his own apartment. 

At some point, he meant to put the fridge over that hole, but as the adrenaline wore off and the day's little aches and pains overtook him, he collapsed onto the futon. 

Next


	2. 2

previous

As the moon filtered through the moth-eaten blind, Yohji woke up. He always did, around this time. He kept expecting to have a date or a mission, but that life was long ago now. He stared up at the ceiling, weighing to pros and cons of having a cigarette. He might set fire to the bed and burn the whole building down, or something _ bad _ might happen. He smiled at his own defeatist humour in the dark. 

"Scheisse, does anyone sleep?" a soft voice muttered. 

"Too many kids," Yohji replied, before it registered to whom he was talking to. 

"Ja. You've no idea. And there's such a scintillating night life around here," the heavy sarcasm made Yohji snort. 

"Oh yes, it's absolutely abuzz," he joined in. "So many hot chicks to chose from, you know? And the music's great." 

"Yeah, I heard Rammstein were playing [1]," Schuldig grinned at his own ceiling as Yohji's confusion bombarded him. The guy wasn't as stupid as he let people think, though. 

"That music earlier?" Yohji questioned. 

"Ja." 

"Never understood the appeal of that stuff." 

"Oh? And what _do _you understand the appeal of?" 

"Blues." 

"What? You've got to be kidding me!" Schuldig sat up and gazed through the hole. "That slow moany shit?" 

"There is nothing sexier than Blues," Yohji insisted, also sitting up. "If I had my CDs, I could show you!" 

"And if you had something to play them on," Schuldig pointed out. 

Yohji flopped back down. "Yeah," he murmured, more to himself than Schuldig. 

"How the mighty have fallen," Schuldig said, and fell silent as well. The rest of the night past slowly, as each man pretended to sleep. 

It became a nightly occurrence. During the day they hated each other with abandon, but at night, in the dark, it was all the same. The lonely men, left behind by a world that didn't want them any more, no matter how much they wanted it. Driftwood on 'night's plutonian shores'. 

"Do you miss it?" Schuldig asked one night, through the darkness. 

"The killing?" It didn't take a genius to work out what two such men would find their minds drifting to in the darkness. Yohji frowned in the darkness. "Yes," he said eventually. "It was all I had, sometimes." 

"Ja. The killing in itself you didn't mind, but it's everything that came with it you miss. The money, the power, the sense of purpose…" Schuldig smirked at Yohji's indignation at having his mind read. "You don't miss the madness, though," he continued. "You don't miss the asylum, you don't miss the guilt, you don't miss the looks the others gave you. Especially Ken's. That understanding. He wasn't much better off than you, was he?" 

"Opening my mouth is just a waste of time, isn't it?" Yohji said dryly. "You might as well have this conversation with yourself." 

"Tried that. People look at you funny." Yohji chuckled. Schuldig sat up, and Yohji could see his pale face through the hole. Schuldig grinned easily, and Yohji pushed himself up at bit to return the grin. "Is this not incredibly weird?" Schuldig smirked. 

"Us? Chatting?" Yohji considered. "We're assassins who spent months trying to kill each other, you can read minds, I spent several months in a mental ward. For us, no." 

"True. I mean, it was always a little odd. I knew you guys inside out, better than you did. Nagi and Omi spent half their time chatting on the internet, both pretending to have no idea who the other was. Brad and Ken went to the same fucking gym." Schuldig leant against the wall, pushing his and through the wall. He waved lazily at Yohji who grinned and grabbed the flailing appendage. "Sometimes I wondered if we were really fighting each other, or just the future. We were all going to be defunct, soon enough." 

"We saved the world," Yohji pointed out, separating Schuldig's fingers and bending them. Schuldig's hand snapped around and grabbed Yohji's wrist, dragging the Japanese man so that his arm was through the wall. "We still have a place. You can keep trying to destroy it, we can keep-" 

"-hunting the tomorrow of the dark beasts?" Schuldig sighed. "Come on, you're cynical, jaded, world weary. You can see that lie, right?" 

"See it and through it," Yohji sighed. "It's so fucking transparent I keep walking into it, like a pane of glass. Don't even notice it's there." 

"You ever done that?" Schuldig was momentarily distracted by Yohji's imagery. "It fucking hurts. Those glass doors ought to be banned." 

Yohji laughed wryly. "Yep. That they oughta. Can I have my hand back?" 

"Nein," Schuldig grinned. "It's on my side, it's mine now!" He started sucking on Yohji's fingers. Yohji's eyes opened wide, and he started to pull seriously, trying to make the German let go of his arm. If he hadn't known better, he'd have said Schuldig was flirting with him. "What makes you think you do know better?" Schuldig growled, but released the arm. Yohji lay down on his on bed, and tried to ignore the man who was literally within touching distance. 

next


	3. 3

previous

The banter was nightly, the uncomfortable feeling brief but fatal, killing every conversation just as it got interesting, in Schuldig's point of view. Yohji started to occupy his mind during the day, as well at night, the bizarre circumstances under which they lived leaving him as confused as Yohji. Why hadn't they killed each other yet? 

One night, as Yohji was trudging up the stairs home from work, Schuldig figured it out. He didn't like the conclusion he came to, but there was no denying it. Well, Yohji was in denial about it, but Schuldig didn't have that luxury. He didn't lie to others, so he'd never manage to lie to himself. It was hard enough for him when people said one thing and thought another, but thinking two different things? The mind boggled. 

Schuldig shook himself. No tangents. He had to talk to Yohji. Yohji. Here was Yohji, almost here. Schuldig stationed himself outside Yohji's door. 

Yohji looked at him and through him as he trudged up the corridor. Schuldig frowned at the dead expression on Yohji's face. 

"We're the same!" he blurted out. Yohji froze, finally noticing Schuldig's presence. Just as well, Schuldig thought, or he'd have got a key in his navel. "You and me, we're the same. That's why you haven't killed me yet. Or me you." 

Yohji stared at him. "It took you this long to figure that out?" he growled. "Get outta my way." 

Schuldig moved automatically and watched as Yohji stumbled into the tiny room. In Yohji's back pocket was a single bill, his total earnings for the week. It wasn't even enough to pay for the water, let alone the huge hole in the wall, and the fact that the door was now shoved up against the wall that divided their rooms, covering said hole. Schuldig followed him in. Yohji turned in the small space and glowered at him. 

"What are you doing in here?" Yohji stared at him. Schuldig frowned. 

"Dunno." 

"So go away." 

"Nein," Schuldig said expansively, and dropped onto Yohji's futon. Yohji glowered at him, but shuffled around as he normally did. He fished a can of tuna out of the stove and stared at it. "You don't want to eat that!" Schuldig exclaimed. "That's older than both of us put together." 

Yohji moved wordlessly, and Schuldig realised that it was all Yohji had. Yohji opened the can and studied its contents. 

"You don't happen to have some psychic mind trick that will make me want to eat this, do you?" he asked. 

"Sure, but it won't stop the killer food poisoning," Schuldig grinned. "Want a cigarette?" Yohji dropped the can and sat down sharply next to Schuldig. 

"You're my new best friend," Yohji told him. "Gimme. Please." 

"Ah, the mating call of the addict," Schuldig smirked and produced a battered cigarette packet. Yohji snatched a fag from it and began to search for a lighter or match. 

Schuldig produced a pearl embedded lighter, worth more than the entire contents of Yohji's flat, including Yohji. He lit his own cigarette first, savouring the first mouthful of tobacco. Yohji pressed the tip of his cigarette to Schuldig's, not waiting for the lighter. 

"A smoker's toast," Schuldig joked, pressing his cigarette to Yohji's. Yohji didn't take his eyes off of the cigarette. Finally the tip flared, and he pressed it to his lips, slowly taking it into his mouth, relishing the familiar pressure and the taste and the excess of sensations. He swallowed, then breathed in, inhaling the deadly curling smoke into deprived lungs. He sighed contentedly, flopping back against the wall with a gentle thud, smoke slipping between barely parted lips in a sliver of pearly slate blue. 

Schuldig watched the entire display with fascination. He'd never seen anyone smoke so sensually. Yohji made it an art form, a sexually charged exhibition. His tongue flicked out over his lips, cradling the cigarette briefly. Schuldig found himself wondering what that tongue would feel like around his cock, how it would feel to be drawn in like the cigarette and sucked on. He could feel himself growing hard, and he leant towards Yohji. Blue eyes met jade, and the energy in the air was electric. 

"Thank you," Yohji murmured, and the languid sensuality that permeated the satisfied growl sent shivers down Schuldig's spine. He could imagine that voice against his ear, telling him that it had been amazing, asking to do it again. He could see those slitted jade eyes gazing into his own, silently thanking him for a night of immeasurable passion. And he knew, just like he'd known with Crawford, that he would say or do something that would prevent that fantasy ever being carried out. 

Schuldig sighed. "You're welcome," he said dully. Yohji frowned at his tone of voice. Something was going on in Schuldig's head he couldn't quite fathom. He could see the tented material in Schuldig's lap, though he pointedly ignored it, but Schuldig couldn't have sounded less pleased to be there. 

"So, you were saying that we were the same? What took you so long to reach that conclusion?" Yohji prompted, apparently having accepted Schuldig's intrusive presence in his small apartment. 

"What? Oh, yeah. We both got left behind. We're both broke. We're both cynical jaded individuals. We're both alone." Schuldig felt deflated. He'd been certain Yohji hadn't figured this out. "That's why we're so desperate for each other's company. We've got a hell of a lot in common. We need each other, or we'll both go mad." 

"Need each other?" Yohji almost spat out the precious cigarette. "I need you like a hole in the head! I'm not desperate for anyone's company." 

"Sure you are. Why else do you put up with my random little conversations at night? When I grab your hand you don't jerk it away, not so soon. You're lonely as hell." 

"Fine, I'm lonely. But don't flatter yourself. I'd make nice with the devil himself in those dark moments." Yohji curled up defensively. 

Schuldig snorted. "According to Crawford, you are." Yohji bit back a smile. "Fine, so maybe it's not just me, but face it, we share a past. Makes it a bit easier talking to me than a complete stranger, right?" 

Yohji frowned at him. "You know what's utterly wrong? You're right. We're mortal enemies, and I'm more comfortable around you than Hiroko, who's a wonderful girl, even if she does spend most of her time yelling at that kid of hers. I've tried to kill you. You've tried to kill me. You're a freak…y telepathic German. I'm an ex-PI government assassin." 

"You're lucky you didn't say freak then," Schuldig warned. "Not a word I take kindly to. Come on, have you ever felt comfortable around normal people?" 

"I feel dangerous around them," Yohji admitted. "Killed too many of them." 

Schuldig regarded him out of one eye. "What's all this strangling people crap?" 

Yohji's eyes closed, pain written across his face. His breathing became heavy, and he pressed his head against the crumbling plasterboard. Schuldig felt a pang of concern, which distracted him. Concern? Professional assassins didn't feel concern. Especially not for other professional assassins, who occasionally went off the rails and tried to strangle young women. 

"If you know so much already," Yohji groaned, "why ask me?" Schuldig started, realising he'd been murmuring softly as he thought. It happened more and more often these days, as the line between thought and speech blurred and the line between thought and thought grew less and less distinct. 

"I didn't realise I did," Schuldig admitted. "It's a toss up which one of us needs to spend more time in an asylum." He smirked. 

Yohji looked troubled. Legally, he was fine. Except sometimes he didn't feel that way. Thinking about Weiss left him feeling very unstable, and he avoided women at all costs now. He'd tried to date again, and had had to flee after a greeting peck on the cheek. Even now, thinking about it, his hands spasmed. His head rocked against the plasterboard, feeling the dent left by Schuldig's stereo. 

Schuldig watched him out of the corner of his eye and blew smoke rings. Yohji exhaled a long stream of smoke, straight through on of the rings. Schuldig grinned. 

"Just like Gandalf, except without the fancy ship thing," he told Yohji, who opened one eye blearily. 

"What?" Yohji muttered. 

"You know, in Fellowship of the Ring… you haven't seen it, have you?" Yohji shook his head. "Ever read Lord of the Rings?" Another shake. 

"It's in English," Yohji pointed out. "I never read translations." 

"Ja, I know what you mean. There's a Japanese version of Hamlet, subbed in English. Except rather than go back to the original play, they translated back from the Japanese, so 'to be or not to be, that is the question' shows up as 'it is, it isn't, isn't it?'" Schuldig chuckled. "Saw that at the cinema, cracked up. So much for Crawford's dreams of high culture. You see it?" Yohji frowned at him. Schuldig opened his mouth to ask another inane question, and stopped. "When was the last time you went to the cinema?" he asked slowly. 

Yohji shrugged. "Around the time we were trying to kill each other, I guess. I went with dates, and that's not happening any more. Plus, you know, I'm wasting all my hard earned cash on luxuries like food and a roof over my head." 

Schuldig watched Yohji carefully. The Japanese guy gazed dully back. Schuldig turned his attention to the room. Yohji could walk out the door and never come back, and there wasn't anything here to say the place was inhabited. Hell, it wasn't exactly inhabitable, but Yohji left no mark on the squalid room. He couldn't afford to. No books, no magazines, no music, no posters, no ornaments, almost no furniture… 

"When was the last time you did something for yourself?" Schuldig asked softly. "You know, went out for a drink, did a bit of personal shopping, even visited a park or something?" 

"Is that supposed to be some sort of joke?" Yohji growled incredulously. 

"No," Schuldig told him. "Scheisse, Yohji, no wonder you're so fucking miserable. Look," he added hastily, "I know you can't afford to. I'll be damned if I can either, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to. If I'm going to drop dead of starvation, I'd rather it be because I spent my last yen on beer and cigarettes than on decades old tuna." 

Yohji took the cigarette out of his mouth and studied it. About an inch of ash fell into his lap. "You stole this," he said blandly. 

"Well, yeah. Can't afford to buy a hell of a lot of stuff, and the rent on this place is gnawing away at the last of my cash." Schuldig didn't look at all ashamed. "Come on, you may be legally dead, but at least you're Japanese. You can get hired by lazy employers. I'm legally dead, an illegal immigrant and I can barely read or write. Exactly what sort of job am I supposed to get?" Yohji opened his mouth, and Schuldig slammed a hand over it. "Never again," he hissed. "I swore I would never do that again. I'd rather die than do that again." 

Yohji pushed Schuldig's arm away. Either Schuldig wasn't putting up any resistance, or he was seriously unfit now. "Calm down. I don't have a problem with you nicking fags and booze. As long as it's not from where I work. Why don't you use your power to make them give you a job?" he asked curiously. 

"Coz I'd have to keep it up. Keep making them forget to check up on me, keep reminding them that I really do work there, keep the whole fucking illusion running twenty four seven. I can't even keep my thoughts separate from yours. Fuck that for a game of soldiers." Schuldig looked agitated. With trembling fingers he snatched another cigarette from the limp pack and took several tries to light it. 

"Fine, okay. I guess stealing is easier. Not right, but nor's getting left behind," Yohji added bitterly. 

"Tell you what," Schuldig said slowly, speculatively. "You and me, tomorrow night, sneak into a film. For kicks. Bit of R 'n' R, so to speak. No paying." 

"I can do that," Yohji said. "I mean, sure, you aren't exactly my first choice for a movie date, but beggar's can't be choosers." 

"What the fuck's that meant to mean, 'not your first choice'? And 'movie date?' 'Movie date'?" Schuldig snapped indignantly. Yohji blinked at him. "You didn't say any of that aloud, did you?" Schuldig asked with trepidation. Yohji shook his head. "Ah shit." 

It was a sentiment Yohji could thoroughly sympathise with. 'Movie date' indeed. 

next


	4. 4

previous

Yohji staggered out of the supermarket, red eyed and pale skinned. He felt like a piece of paper, so thin he might blow away, so dry he was burning up… 

"So sharp you'll cut someone?" Schuldig finished the thought, dropping into step beside him. He wrapped a friendly arm around Yohji's bowed shoulders. "Cheer up, pet, we've got a hot date, remember?" 

"Shut the fuck up," Yohji sighed. "Just, shut the fuck up, okay? About that, about everything." 

"Grumpy little sod, aren't we?" Schuldig's buoyant mood would not be weighed down. "Come on, it's just the cinema." 

"I'm too tired." 

"Of course you are, you've been working all day. All work and no play makes Yohji a dull, and loopy, boy. You'll feel much better after watching… Spiderman? Is that all?" They'd stopped outside a small one-screen cinema with popcorn infested lobby carpet and the smell of cheap beer and overly sweet soft drinks saturating the walls. The doors were open, creaking back and forth in the gentle smog-laden breeze. "Fucking Spiderman? I'm not paying to see a bloody flick about a bloody comic book bastard!" 

"You're not paying," Yohji pointed out. 

"That's true, and I do know that the fire exit doesn't switch on the alarm in this building because the batteries went flat in it months ago, so we can sneak in the back very easily. Still, a webcrawling yank?" 

"It's all there is," Yohji tugged on Schuldig's arm, "and we're already missing the beginning. Come on," he urged. Schuldig didn't take a lot of persuading, and within minutes they were happily sitting in the back row. Schuldig swiped a box of popcorn from a couple in front of them who were too busy groping to notice and Yohji struck a match on the no smoking sign and lit up one of Schuldig's cigarettes. 

"I haven't seen this much lycra and spandex since I worked in a gay bar in Berlin," Schuldig commented. Yohji snorted. "That death was totally fake. I mean, come on, if you hit that guy there it would take fucking hours for him to die." 

"Not if you twist it. But no bullet would do that. Come on, where's the exit wound people, where's the bloody exit wound?" 

They were duly shushed by the people in front. Schuldig threw popcorn at them. 

"She's pretty hot," Schuldig mused. "You can completely see her nipples through that top." 

"That's the whole point," Yohji gave him a scornful look. "Why do you think it's raining?" 

They were evicted from the cinema three times before the film ended. Schuldig nicked several pockets full of confectionary on the way out each time, and Yohji grabbed more than a few boxes of cigarettes. When the film finally ended, and their stream of abuse slowed to a trickle and the credits rolled, Schuldig got up to leave. Yohji tried to stand up, but he slipped on an empty popcorn container, and slumped back into his seat, legs shooting forwards and tangling in Schuldig's. Schuldig gave a startled yelp and spun around slightly, tumbling forwards. He ended up straddling Yohji's lap, face pressed against Yohji's in a mockery of a kiss, one hand on Yohji's shoulder and the other in his crotch. 

Yohji tried to jerk his head back, but the seat forced him to keep still. Schuldig jerked his hand from Yohji's lap, losing his grip on Yohji's shoulder, to fall face first into it. There was a slight ripping noise, ominous in the darkness, and Schuldig found himself with a mouthful of Yohji's cotton coated erection. 

There was a very pregnant pause. 

Eventually, Schuldig managed to struggle back to his feet, pushing away from Yohji and stumbling to the end of the row. Yohji stayed where he was, breathing heavily. There was a damp circle on his boxer shorts where Schuldig's mouth had rested, with his erection rising through it and distorting it like the stream of smoke through the smoke ring. 

His trousers had split at the flies. There was no way he could walk home like this. Of course, at this point in time he'd be lucky to just walk. Maybe it was just the prolonged abstinence, self enforced by nightmares of purple ringed necks and choking girls. Maybe it was the place and situation, in the back of a darkened cinema, like so many where girls had gone down on him in the past. Maybe it was the proximity of another body, awkwardly pressed against his. It hadn't taken long, what ever it was, to leave him wanting more, even if it was with a guy. 

Really? Even then. Yes, even then. Yohji could admit to himself that he would not be unwilling if a man solicited him. Well, not any man. But he'd sunk so far recently, what more shame could liking men bring on his family and his name? It was acceptable, in these days, though he remembered several stern lectures from his father announcing otherwise. He'd never liked his father. So what if he thought some guys were attractive? Maybe he had entertained thoughts of being with them, once or twice. It meant nothing. He'd entertained thoughts of suicide, once or twice, but that didn't mean he was going to do that. The odd fantasy wasn't a sin, was it? According to his father it was, but Yohji had hated his homophobic, bigoted, chauvinistic butt, and sometimes had felt like getting into a male/male relationship just to spite him. Let him come home one night to find Yohji in a clinch with a guy, a foreign guy, who was into women's rights. Yeah. But that was a long time ago now. Time enough to let go. So why was he thinking of sleeping with a guy now, if not to spite his father? 

"Yohji? Are you going to sit there all night?" Schuldig's voice sounded small and distant. Yohji roused himself from his confused reflections to see a curtain of orange hair. He tilted his head back to see Schuldig leaning over him, hands resting on the back of the chair. 

"Maybe," Yohji said dazedly. Schuldig's hair tickled his nose, and he sneezed. It suddenly occurred to him that he was quite cold, and it would be nice to be back in his little apartment, the door blocking the hole that had linked them together from the beginning. 

Schuldig led Yohji out of the fire exit and towards the block of flats they both reluctantly called home. He wasn't certain what had just happened. Yohji had slipped, he'd slipped, his mouth had fastened, albeit briefly, over Yohji's (all those excuses come true) and suddenly he'd had a mouth full of dick and his only thought had been 'I wish Yohji had gone commando'. 

Schuldig knew perfectly well he found Yohji attractive. The Japanese man had fascinated him for a while, with all his traumas. He'd been fun to torture. With Asuka and Neu and all those aborted relationships and one-night stands, Schuldig had happily declared him an emotional volcano, awakening fitfully from its dormancy to douse passers-by and innocent bystanders with liquid hate and burning pathos. Schuldig had also harboured the suspicion that Yohji was a repressed homosexual. Who else would date quite so many women, unless he was in denial? 

But still, all things considered, he hadn't expected such a… a 'ready' reaction from the ex Weiss assassin. Sure, he'd thought Yohji found him attractive (who wouldn't?) but their closeness and induced a violent reaction that Schuldig wouldn't have expected even if Yohji were actively lusting after him. 

The silence lengthened with the evening shadows, and Schuldig was aware he'd have a long night ahead of him. As Yohji calmed down, Schuldig became more aroused. He could still taste the blonde's underwear, and the idea that Yohji might be more than willing, in flesh at least, reminded him that it had been a very long time since he'd last had sex. 

They entered the building as the last natural light faded into the constant light pollution, the eternal twilight that was increasingly common in cities across the world, but nowhere so spectacular as Tokyo. If you squinted and strained your eyes, you could maybe make out a few faint stars, lost in the orange haze. Later, when more people were asleep in bed, the sky grew clearer, but it was winter and parent's were still settling kids down for the night or sitting down to a nice meal, while Yohji and Schuldig faced the many hundreds of harsh concrete steps to their respective hellholes. 

Schuldig sat down on the first step. Yohji barely spared him a glance as he started to make his way up the steps. Schuldig grabbed his ankle. 

"Do you think we need to talk?" Schuldig asked. 

"No." 

Schuldig couldn't think of anything to say to this, so he let go and listened to Yohji's monotonous plodding as worn shoes grated on rough concrete. It was a steady, regular rhythm, and Schuldig found himself being hypnotised into a doze by the heartbeat like thudding. 

"Oy, what you doin' 'ere?" a tired voice groaned. "Get outta the way, you great oaf." A middle-aged woman pushed past him, petite but round, like a soft doll. Schuldig resisted the faint urge to grab her legs and press his face against her stomach, like he had to his mother, a long time ago. Mothers everywhere seemed to have the same apron, stained with a thousand meals prepared and tears dried. The pitiful nostalgia threatened to overwhelm him, and he forced himself to his feet before he could get too sentimental. 

He wasn't a sentimental person, by nature. He had no great love for the touchy-feely side of things. Schuldig was all 'id', all primal pleasure urges. Lust, want, hate… what he did feel he felt strongly, in waves of unbridled passion that drove him through an otherwise mind numbingly boring life. Without passion he was just a vaguely malicious young man, like billions of other young men. 

On the fifth floor he encountered Yohji, who had collapsed, physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, curled against a whitewashed wall. One side of his head was covered in white dust, making him look older than he was. No, that was just the years of pain showing in Yohji's eyes and long-suffering expression, the whitewash just lightened the blond hair. 

Schuldig didn't have to say anything. With a sigh Yohji clambered to his feet and fell into step beside him. Both pale faced and sallow, papery skin and bloodshot eyes, lank and greasy hair, lethargic and apathetic, it seemed the only difference was the hair and eye colour, and those were barely noticeable. 

But no matter how terrible they felt, the fates had more planned for them. Dead-eyed and deadheaded, Yohji walked straight into his door. He stepped back, frowning. He was tired past exhaustion, shattered more than he'd imagined he could be. Even the most strenuous mission had never taken it out of him like this. The only comparable time had been after Asuka's death, when the pain and loss had left him desolate. 

Schuldig, who'd opened his own door, glanced across tentatively when he heard Yohji rebound from the cheap chipboard. Yohji was frowning at the door. 

"I left that inside," Yohji murmured. 

"Yeah, and you didn't have one of those when you left this morning either," Schuldig gestured to the piece of paper pinned haphazardly to the door. He was willing to bet you could see the point of the pin on the other side. Yohji looked baffled, then the last colour drained from his face. He turned, ashen to Schuldig, stubbing his toe on something by the door. It was the can of tuna. 

"I've been evicted," Yohji said, voice leaden. "Goodbye." 

"No," Schuldig caught his arm as he walked past. "You… you can't." 

"Can't what?" Yohji asked, voice acid. "Who the fuck are you, to tell me what I can or can't do? I'm tired, Schuldig. My life fucking sucks. Stay out of it, okay?" 

"No. I can't. You can't leave me here. My life ain't exactly peachy either, if you hadn't noticed." Schuldig pulled Yohji closer. "Come on, you can't quit now. Ain't this the point when things can only get better? Only way is up?" 

"Sure, then there's a hell of a lot of down, and a splat. I want the splat." 

"No you don't." 

"Yes, I do." 

"No, you don't. You can't. There's more than 'splat' to life." 

"There's more than 'splat' to death, too, but it's cheap and easy. Or would you rather I garrotted myself with my wire?" Yohji tried to push away from Schuldig, who tightened his grip. "When did you decide to grow a conscience, anyway? What's it mater to you what I do?" 

"If you die, I'm going to follow. I _can't_ be alone here, Yohji, I'm going _nuts_." Schuldig shook him. "All these voices, all this pain and misery and then there's _you_ who's full of more pain and misery but it's _familiar_ and it's what I expect from_ you_ and… and…" 

"You really are going nuts," Yohji said. "Look, I'm sorry. See my point of view? I'm legally dead. I have no friends, no family. I have no money, and fucking terrible job which I lost today, thank you very much, I have no home, no food and to be quite frank, I have no fucking idea what to do about any of it. So if you'll kindly let go, I'll make the world an overall happier place by removing myself from it." 

Schuldig kissed him. It was desperate, it was futile, it was messy. It was in no way romantic. There was no instant ecstasy, no realisation of true love, nothing but one guy sticking his tongue down the throat of another. As frantic gestures went, it was probably one of the least romantic Schuldig could have made. 

"Are you quite done?" Yohji pulled back sharply. "What was that?" Schuldig flinched. 

"I didn't do that for the reason you think I did that," Schuldig told him. 

"Oh, and what reason is that? Pray enlighten me," Yohji snarled. In Schuldig's experience, by the time someone started using the word 'pray' he or she was too angry to think about anything other than the fight. Yohji looked apoplectic, which was an improvement on depressed and melancholy. At least he'd put off committing suicide until he'd killed Schuldig. 

"You think I did that because you're going to kill yourself and I thought I was going to miss an opportunity. Bullshit." 

"Bullshit? I know you want to fuck my arse off," Yohji clenched his fists and stared at Schuldig. "You spent so much of today being so bloody nice and so fucking sincere… that was all you wanted, wasn't it? You think now I've made up my mind to die I want care what the fuck I do. You think I'll spread my legs for you, coz it won't make a difference. Well, I do. I'm not gonna spend my last few hours like some fucking whore!" 

Schuldig slapped him. 

"You're going to spend the last few hours of your life in a comfortable bed surrounded by grieving friends and family," he snapped. "I'll kill you before I let you kill yourself!" 

Yohji snorted. Schuldig's brown furrowed and he took a threatening step towards him. "You know I will," he warned. 

"So why did you do it?" Yohji almost shrieked. "Why the fuck did you kiss me?" 

"Because _you_ thought you were going to kill yourself and _you_ didn't want to miss an opportunity!" Schuldig grabbed him, hands closing like steel vices around Yohji's arm. There would be rings of bruises the next day. "You're alone, Yohji. You hate it. I'm alone. I hate it. _We_'re not alone. Get it?" 

"So, you think I want you, but you kissed me for purely selfish reasons?" Yohji asked snippily. "Sure, I understand. I won't kill myself because _you_'ll be miserable. I'm sorry I even brought it up." 

Schuldig shook him. Yohji's head slammed into the wall a few times, but Schuldig didn't stop. Schuldig's eyes were wide and bloodshot, a vein pulsing in his temple. Yohji was reminded of the first time Weiss had seen him since the Omi incident. Hate and rage crackled in the air, almost tangible. 

"You will not die! You can not die! Stop it! Stop talking about it! I won't let you leave too!" 

"Too?" Yohji asked, dazed but clear headed. Schuldig abruptly released him. "What happened, Schuldig? Where _are_ the rest of Schwarz?" His voice was soft, conciliatory. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder, before. He'd assumed Schuldig had left of his own volition. But if this wasn't the case… 

"They left," Schuldig said shortly. 

"Are they dead?" Yohji asked. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Schuldig bit out. To the surprise of both, Yohji shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. I climbed out of the sea, and I didn't know where they were. I mean, I know Brad could swim, and I'm pretty sure Farf could, but I've no idea about Nagi. But I climbed out the sea, and I was wet, and my ears were ringing, and my head hurt, and it never occurred to me to check… Brad always knew where to find me…" 

"God," Yohji murmured. 

"Yeah." 

"At least I know Weiss are alive," Yohji said to himself, "or were, last time I checked. I mean, they might be dead, I guess… That would explain why no one's contacted me, right?" Yohji frowned at the filthy floor. Schuldig frowned at him. 

"No, it wouldn't. Kritiker still have you on their files." Schuldig rested a hand gently on Yohji's shoulders. Unconsciously, Yohji's hand crept up to hold him, entwining his fingers into Schuldig's. "All we have is each other now, Yohji. Don't leave me. You know I'll only follow," Schuldig offered a small grin. 

"Where else can I go? I have nowhere," Yohji pleaded. The longer Schuldig kept him here, the less he wanted to commit suicide. 

"Live with me," Schuldig said easily. 

"Where? That's practically a closet in there! We wouldn't be able to stand in there together." 

"So? It's what estate agents call 'cosy'." 

"I…" 

"Have no other option and would love to take you up on your offer, most wonderful Schuldig?" 

"Sure, why not?" Yohji bobbed his head and smiled. Schuldig moved his hand from Yohji's shoulder to around his neck, pulling him into a light hug. Yohji stood there awkwardly while Schuldig nuzzled his neck. Back poker-straight, arms clenched against his sides, eyes staring blankly ahead, Yohji was the picture of discomfort. He'd had his moment of gay-interest for the day, he felt certain, and Schuldig nibbling on his ear and tousling his hair was reawakening his earlier suspicions. 

"Calm down," Schuldig soothed. "If I wanted you as badly as you seem to think you'd be mine already. I _can_ control your mind, remember." He pressed his nose into Yohji's hair, and regretted it. It was in desperate need of a proper wash, and smelt pretty foul. 

"So why did you try to persuade me to stay? Why didn't you just make me?" Yohji tried to pull away, but Schuldig held on. It was nice having some kind of physical contact with a person. It made it so much easier to define whose thoughts were whose. 

"Because as soon as I slept you'd snap out of it. Besides, it's not the same." 

"I'm tired," Yohji admitted. Schuldig finally released him and stepped back. 

"Yeah. It's been a tiring kind of day, hasn't it?" Schuldig leant over and hit the doorknob with the pack of his hand. There was the sound of overstressed metal giving up on a bad job, and the door swung open. Schuldig wandered into the tiny room and sat down on the futon. Yohji stood awkwardly. The sky glowed through the cracked window, splintered into spider webs of light by the faults in the plastic that separated inside from out. Technically it was night, but both men could see each other in the dim glow. 

"Is it very stupid to ask where I'm going to sleep?" he asked dejectedly. 

"Pretty much," Schuldig smirked, taking off his boots and lying down. "Snuggle up, katzchen." 

Yohji didn't move. "Perhaps this isn't such-" 

"Sure it is. Look, I'm clothed. Look at the clothedness of me. The multiple layers of clothing. And, oh look, you're clothed too!" 

"Can it," Yohji said, lying down in defeat. The narrow futon ensured they were pressed together. Schuldig pressed back against the wall, careful not to press through it, but there wasn't much he could do. 

There was a noise in the darkness. 

"Is that your stomach?" Schuldig asked incredulously. Yohji blushed. "But you ate so much in that cinema! How can you be hungry?" 

"I'm not," Yohji growled. "My stomach's just not used to having that much food in." 

"You're not going to be ill, are you?" Schuldig asked cautiously. 

"No." 

"Sure?" 

"Yes." 

"Good. Do you mind if I put my arm over you? If I'd known how uncomfortable this was going to be…" 

"Knock yourself out," Yohji said with resignation. The warm weight on Schuldig's arm, pale in the ghostly city light, settled itself comfortingly over Yohji's waist. It was going to be a long night. 

Next


	5. 5

Previous 

About a fortnight past in this fashion, and not a day went by when Yohji didn't entertain thoughts of suicide. The space was too small for two grown men, and Yohji only now began to appreciate what Hiroko went through with a child in this settings. Schuldig talked in his sleep, channelling the building's other occupants. While it would have been indispensable to a gossipmonger, Yohji just wished Schuldig would shut up. Awake, he was even worse. If he wasn't reading Yohji's mind he was saying what was on his own, and sometimes Yohji just wanted to scream and scream at him to shut up and leave him alone. 

"I can't. I don't trust you yet," Schuldig said softly. Yohji's head snapped up. 

"I told you not to do that," he snarled, rudely brought out of his solitary reflection. 

"Can't help it, you know that," Schuldig said bitterly. "Jesus, do you think I want to listen to your morbidity all day and night? If you're so keen on dying why don't you fucking do it?" 

"You won't let me, remember?" Yohji wrapped his arms around his knees, glowering over them at Schuldig, who was perched on the other end of the futon, trying to darn socks. A German telepathic assassin in his early twenties, who'd tried to end the world, was darning Yohji's socks at one end of the room, while the Japanese ex-PI who'd been sent to a mental asylum for strangling women while he was a secret Government assassin glowered at him from the other, and both were barely half a metre apart. It seemed so odd, so strange a scene that Yohji couldn't prevent a snicker from finding it's way out. Of course, once Yohji started Schuldig began to chuckle as well. This made Yohji laugh out loud, which lead to Schuldig guffawing wildly… 

They fought frequently, but the fights usually ended like this. Something about the incredibly unlikely circumstances that had resulted in their current ones would always set them off, and they'd let whatever petty matter had started the bickering drop. 

"It's like the odd couple," Schuldig had commented at one point. "Two bachelors, who by all rights should hate each other-" 

"-and do, most of the time," Yohji had added. 

Schuldig had nodded his acknowledgement. "-And do, most of the time, living together in a room not big enough for one. How are we both still living?" 

Yohji was drawn out of his reverie by a loud German curse from Schuldig. Yohji knew most of them by now, but Schuldig could be alarmingly creative, and tended to switch between languages. Schuldig had his finger in his mouth and there was blood on Yohji's sock. Yohji sighed; reaching forwards to pick up the offending article and fished out the needle. 

"You've done a good job," Yohji admitted. "Where did you learn to sew like that?" 

"Places like this," Schuldig said enigmatically. Yohji let it drop. 

"I'm hungry," Yohji complained. Schuldig shot him a dark look. "Sorry," Yohji sighed, "but I am. Can't we just nick some more food?" Schuldig glanced at the adjoining wall. There was silence. 

'You can't be just a little less subtle?' Schuldig complained mentally. 'We're going to be arrested any day now. Guy thinks he's the fucking Sherlock Holmes of groceries.' An interesting little side effect of their time together was the return of Schuldig's grasp on his powers. He still couldn't control what he heard, but he had got the hang of projecting to a single person again. His headaches were less, and he was relatively certain his thoughts were his own. When he found himself wondering if he was the only person in the room, the building, or the entire planet, Yohji would brush up against him, whether on purpose or by accident, and Schuldig would remember that he wasn't entirely alone. 

'I'm sorry,' Yohji groaned. 'Come on, we didn't eat at all yesterday. The loan sharks are going to figure out I'm here any day now, and I've nothing left. Not even the tuna.' 

Schuldig snickered. 'Your watch is nothing?' Yohji shot him a look that would skin a cow. 'Look, we'll have to find somewhere larger and further away to hit. They've noticed us.' 

'We aren't exactly inconspicuous,' Yohji moaned. 'God, I hate this. You couldn't just let me die, could you? Selfish Nazi bastard.' 

Schuldig slapped him, hard. "I am not. A. Fucking. Nazi." he bellowed. "What is it with people and 'all Germans are Nazis?' Hitler was a fucking Austrian!" 

"Okay, okay," Yohji put his hands up. "I'm just stressed, okay? I'm tired of all this." 

"I know," Schuldig sighed. "We both are. What are we going to do about it?" 

Yohji shrugged. "I still say suicide's a perfectly valid option," he commented. 

"See, that's why I can't leave you alone," Schuldig complained. "Can't you just accept that you are not going to commit suicide?" 

"I'm depressed. Depressed people think about suicide a lot. I have a lot of things to be depressed about," Yohji said flatly. 

Schuldig slid up the bed until he was sitting next to Yohji and wrapped his arms around the Japanese man. This was another side effect of their arrangement, Yohji's coming to term with the physical closeness. Schuldig didn't want to push it, but he thought Yohji might be coming to term with a few other kinds of closeness as well. Yohji settled against him, letting Schuldig enfold him. 

"Don't be depressed," Schuldig begged. "It makes me depressed too, and I don't dally about these things. Come on, we'll work out how to make things better. I'm good at making things better…" 

"How, by fucking me?" Yohji bit out acidly, pulling away from Schuldig. "Yeah, that'll help. God knows what I'd catch. I know, if we need cash, we can sell our bodies on the street and our souls to the devil!" 

"You really think I'm coming on to you, don't you?" Schuldig snapped incredulously. "You think I'd be so crass as to take advantage of your situation for my own benefit?" They locked gazes. "Fine, I would. And I am. I'm taking fucking advantage of you Yohji, because you have nowhere else to go. That was the idea. I'd take you in, your misplaced sense of honour would bind us together, and eventually we'd end up fucking. But you had to ruin that with your little depressive skit, so I spend most of my time bound to you anyway, trying to keep you from hurling yourself to a messy death on the fucking pavement! This was not what I wanted, but it's what I got. And both of us are still here. What does that fucking tell you?" Schuldig's chest was heaving with emotion. 

"That you're as stubborn as I am," Yohji said promptly. "I knew you only wanted me around for sex and to keep you sane. I know that that's why you won't let me go. You'll go insane. And the thought of that fucking terrifies you." 

"Hell yes! I've been there, Yohji, and I really would rather sell my soul to the devil than go back. It keeps me fucking awake at night, and leaves me incapable of anything during the day, that fear. If you go, I go, but my body won't. You have no idea what that's like, Yohji, to be lost inside your own head. You couldn't even begin to understand what I go through every minute, every second, of every day." Schuldig stood up and turned, then slumped against he opposite wall. If he tucked his legs right into his chest, he could sit there without touching the futon. "There's nowhere to go!" he whined. 

"I'm going to take a shower," Yohji declared. 

"About bloody time," Schuldig snarled. 

Yohji scowled at him. "You know we've got limited water. At least I'm being considerate. What would you do if we ran out, eh? Nothing to drink. That's worse than nothing to eat, and miles worse than nowhere to go." 

Yohji fought his way through the arduous task that was undressing in the shower cubicle but leaving his clothes in the main room. He had to balance on one leg, careful not to drop things in the toilet, and hang on to the outside wall for dear life as he struggled with the basics, like underwear. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, but it never got any easier with practice. 

As he stood under the trickle of water, aware than he couldn't stay here for more than five minutes, Yohji struggled with his conflicting emotions, aware that Schuldig would know exactly what he was doing. Dammit, there really wasn't enough space. Just half an hour, that was all he asked, half an hour away from this prying telepath and these godawful apartments and somewhere nice. Somewhere warm, and clean, and relatively empty, and most of all, free. Somewhere he could just think. 

"I know a place," Schuldig said quietly, "if you're that desperate." He sounded forlorn. Yohji sighed. Surely Schuldig could cope on his own for just half an hour? 

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? I mean, I was still here when you got back from work each day, right? Barely. And now I'm used to you as a constant presence." 

Yohji shut off the water and sat on the toilet, running his fingers through damp hair. He could see Schuldig's hair through the misted glass. Yohji had the sinking suspicion that it wasn't meant to be misted. 

"Just a little privacy, Schuldig," Yohji pleaded. "I'm going nuts here. I mean, come on, wouldn't you like to have just a little private time, alone?" 

"You mean to masturbate? I don't mind doing that with you here," Schuldig said. 

Yohji's leant forwards and whacked his head on the glass in exasperation. It shattered. Probably not glass, then. Cheap, brittle, recycled plastic. 

There was an awkward moment in which the two men regarded each other. Yohji, stark naked, sitting on the toilet. Schuldig, stuffing Yohji's clothes into the gap between the walls. The landlord had covered over the other side, but Schuldig had just stuck some paper over it and was currently employed with hiding Yohji's only outfit where the wall insulation ought to be. 

"You are so hot," Schuldig murmured. Yohji sprang forwards and snatched his clothes from Schuldig. He overreached himself and caught his foot on the futon. With an ungainly yelp he landed on top of Schuldig. Schuldig ran his fingers over Yohji's naked skin, racing droplets of water down his back. Yohji was breathing heavily, and not from the fall. 

" Please don't," Yohji begged breathily, his voice much higher than normal. "Schuldig, stop it." His arms spasmed, fists clenching uselessly against the dirty sheet. 

Sighing like a martyr, Schuldig kept his hands to himself as Yohji pulled himself as far away as the tiny apartment would allow and started pulling his clothes back on. This wasn't to say he kept his eyes to himself, and he absorbed every fluid movement and graceful muscle as Yohji struggled with his trademark tight clothing. 

"I'll let you have your half an hour," Schuldig told the other man. "We'll both get out of here, and go to, say, a park. Somewhere nice where people aren't obsessed with death and misery and poverty and such. Somewhere I can keep my head." 

"Yeah. That would be good. I really need to just think." 

"I know," Schuldig told him. "And I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think these thought would turn out for my benefit. Just for the record." 

Yohji stood up, finally dressed, and gestured for Schuldig to lead the way out of the door, since there wasn't enough room for the two men to pass. "What is it with you and being an emotionless sociopathic bastard?" he asked as they made their way down the corridor. "Why all the posturing?" 

"Because that's who I am," Schuldig sighed. "I'm selfish, I'm a bastard, I like pain for it's own sake, I'm a generally bad person. That's why I was one of the bad guys, remember?" 

"Nah." 

"What?" 

"Nah. You're not one of the bad guys. There's no such thing. You've told me enough times we're both 'men of the world' and 'cynical bastards'. There's no good and evil. So why do you go out of your way to make people hate you? I mean," Yohji speeded up so they were walking two abreast down the narrow stairs, "you like me, right? You find me attractive. You want to sleep with me. But rather than try and get on my good side, rather than being nice and a good guy, you go out of your way not only to demonstrate but to declare how terrible you are. Why insist that you only took me in in the hope we'd start fucking? Why tell me everything you do is entirely self-motivated? Why go out of your way to put me off?" 

"Because that's who I am," Schuldig repeated. "I don't want you full of fairy tale ideas of who I am. Almost everything I do I do out of selfishness. I want you for your body and your mind. I need you. I don't want you to end up with some fantasy picture of me in your head that I can't live up to. I'm not going to sleep with someone who's lying to himself." 

"You don't lie, do you?" Yohji asked with curiosity. "You tell me these things because they are true. But you're answering questions I haven't asked. You could just not say anything about your motive-" 

"You're not listening!" Schuldig snapped. "You're doing it already. You're trying to make me into something I'm not. I'm a bad person, Yohji. I don't want you to think any other way about me. I don't want to have to pretend to be this imaginary Schuldig. I told you, I'm not going to let you lie to yourself. If I did, I might as well be lying to you, and if I lie to you I might as well use my power to control you, and if I do that you're not Yohji and there's no fun in it!" 

"This is fun?" 

"Argh!" Schuldig slammed a fist into a wall. "You're right. We need to spend some time apart. How about opposite sides of the world for the rest of eternity?" 

"Where will you find someone like me though? So hot, so sexy," Yohji leered at him. "Someone in the same situation, someone who understands. Isn't that what everyone wants, someone who understands them? And if that person happens to be as drop dead gorgeous as Mr Yohji Kudoh, the man all the ladies faint for, well, they're just the luckiest person on earth, aren't they?" 

"Stop it, you fucking prick tease," Schuldig growled, but it was more playful than angry this time. "Mr Yohji Kudoh indeed." Yohji laughed, despite not getting the joke. The prospect of some free time without his orange haired self-assigned protector was making him giddy and light-headed. 

They walked down the street together, joking and teasing. There was a darker element to their banter though, a current which swept them towards a small park overshadowed by huge buildings. In amongst the shadowy foliage they would separate, and, quite possibly, never meet again. Both were quite capable of cutting their losses and leaving now. They had nothing to lose. 

Schuldig leant on the ornate gates. "Come and find me when you're done being alone," he said shortly. Yohji stared at him. 

"You don't expect me to come back," he wondered aloud. "Where else am I going to go?" 

Schuldig shrugged. "Why would you come back?" 

Yohji didn't reply. There was a second as they stared at each other, then Yohji turned and walked into the trees. 

After about ten minutes wandering he found a small grove of trees. It was almost cold in the deep shadows, but if he lay back and stared upwards he could see the sky without seeing the buildings. He could be anywhere. 

Schuldig. Schuldig. 

"He's attractive, I suppose," Yohji began aloud. "I'm not attracted to me-" He closed his eyes, frowning. "Fine," he muttered. "I am attracted to him." 

There. He'd said it. He could admit that he found Schuldig attractive. It was wrong and twisted and sick to fall for a guy who had tried to kill you. 

"Fall for?" Yohji's eyes snapped open. "In what sense: 'fall'?" his voice had a deeply suspicious tone, and he found himself falling into an old familiar pattern left from his PI days, questioning himself as he would a witness. He realised he missed those days. He'd been happy. Somewhat. 

"No lies here. Everything must come out. I am physically attracted to Schuldig? 

"Yes. I find him very attractive. It's disconcerting; I've never liked a man like that before. 

"Never? 

"Well, Ken wasn't bad looking, in his own way, and Aya was exotic, but it was never like this. I suppose Ken would be the closest. But this is different. 

"How so? 

"We've got so much in common. I mean, I know he's a mind reader, but we're on the same level. Like, we're both very cynical. We've both done and seen a lot. We both accept that. 

"How long have I felt like this? 

"I don't know. I don't think… I don't think I did back in Weiss. No, I found him attractive then. I'd justify the fact I couldn't stop thinking about him, blame any dreams on the stress he put me under, or directly on him. But this is qualitatively different. There's no barrier any more. 

"Am I certain he has nothing to do with this? 

"It wouldn't make sense for him to make me think one thing while trying to persuade me otherwise out loud. I mean, he hasn't exactly gone out of his way to seduce me, has he? I suppose, back in Weiss, he could have planted the idea… 

"Why haven't I acted on any of these feelings? 

"Well, partly, I needed to get them clear to myself. It's hard to think when I know he's listening. And, well, I didn't want to admit to them. It's disconcerting. I like women, dammit. 

"Have I always? Was there ever a time, before now, before Weiss, before Asuka, that I felt like this?" 

"Yes." 

Yohji stared at the sky, his heart racing. He'd admitted it out loud. He'd had a crush on a guy, back at school. A guy with long brown hair and laughing eyes and a smile that made Yohji's stomach turn to water. 

"I… I told him how I felt," Yohji said haltingly. "He told me I was sick. I am sick." 

"You do look a bit ill," a voice observed, making Yohji sit up sharply, fast enough to get head rush. "Anything I can do to help?" 

Yohji's eyes bugged out. Leaning against a tree was Aya-chan. She had no idea who he was, but memories threatened to overwhelm him. Oh god… 

"Now you look terrible," she commented. "When was the last time you ate?" 

"A while back," Yohji admitted. "Money's tight." 

"As long as you're not anorexic," she said lightly. She chewed on the end of one of her braid, studying him. "Look, I'm sorry, but I overheard most of your monologue. I couldn't help it. You're not sick. You shouldn't beat yourself up just because one person said you were." 

Yohji crossed his legs, head still spinning. It was so… surreal. Last time he'd seen this girl she was in a coma, now she was holding a conversation with him. 

"Does this Schuldig guy know how you feel?" Aya-chan asked softly, sitting down opposite him. 

"How much did you hear?" Yohji finally asked suspiciously. He was running through his interrogation in his mind and he realised that he'd mentioned Aya more recently than he had Schuldig's name. 

"Oh, most of it," Aya-chan said breezily. 

"Well, no he doesn't. I don't think. That's not important," Yohji said brusquely. 

"Sure it is. Was he the one who told you that you were sick?" 

"No. That was a long time ago. I was younger than you. No, Schuldig wouldn't think that. He finds me attractive. He keeps trying to get me to sleep with him." Yohji couldn't take his eyes off of her. Perhaps… perhaps she wouldn't realise he'd been talking about her brother, or perhaps she hadn't heard it. Besides, Aya wasn't an uncommon name. For a girl. 

"So, why can't you tell him? Are you scared of what he'd do?" She looked at him steadily. "It's okay to be scared, just don't throw away a good thing because you can't come out and say it's a good thing." 

"Shut up," Yohji sighed. "You don't have the faintest idea what this is like for me." 

"Yes, I do." Aya-chan gave him a sad smile. "I work in a flower shop. This girl I work with, Sakura, she's just gone to France. I had spent most of the year trying to work up the courage to tell her how I felt, and now I have she's not there to tell." 

"Sakura?" Yohji asked incredulously, somewhat stunned. He realised, too late, that there was no reason he should know Sakura. Fortunately, Aya-chan mistook his surprise. 

"Yes, Sakura. A girl," she said shortly.

Yohji blushed. "Sorry, I guess. I suppose you do have kind of a right to lecture me. Fine, so suppose I tell Schuldig. It won't work out anyway, we're too different." 

"You were just talking about how similar you are!" Aya-chan scolded. "No excuses." 

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it'll work out. I used to fight with this guy. Loads. Mortal enemies." 

"So? Yohji, let that go. You like this guy. A lot. It's daunting, but it's not a big deal. It's no different to any woman, and you strike me as the sort of guy who'd be good with women. Maybe it'll work, maybe it won't. Don't you want to know?" Aya-chan leant forwards and clasped his hands between his own. "Trust me, it's better to know than be left wondering. And you know that he feels the same." 

"He lusts after me. I… I find him physically attractive. I like him I guess. I mean, he gets on my nerves and he winds me up and we fight continuously and he's a complete bastard, but we're comfortable together. It's not… not love." Yohji couldn't look her in the eye when he said that, and he wondered why. 

"I never said it was," she sighed. "You did, Yohji. I'm not insisting you march right up to him and declare you're undying love and make passionate love there and then. I'm not even suggesting it. I just… don't be an idiot, okay?" 

Yohji chuckled. "You don't know me," he grinned. "I suffer foot-in-mouth disease." 

"You've been hurt before," Aya-chan told him. Yohji didn't like how perceptive she was. 

"Yeah. The girl I loved died." It was the short version. The really short version. He didn't think he could explain Neu to a girl he still thought of as Aya's living doll of a sister. 

"And that guy rejected you. Are you scared this Schuldig is going to do the same?" Aya-chan smiled prettily at him. 

Yohji opened his mouth and closed it again. Would Schuldig reject him? Probably not. "No," he said eventually. 

"Don't just say that," Aya-chan scolded. "Don't let your pride stop you from admitting-" 

"I'm not. I honestly don't think he'd reject me. He'd hurt me, and he'd laugh, if the mood took him, but rejection is not something I need to worry about. It's just the fact he's a complete bastard. He hurts people for fun. What is wrong with me, that I'm attracted to a guy who screws with people's minds for fun?" 

Aya-chan frowned. "Can't answer that. Sorry." 

Yohji gave her a sideways look. "You're really good at this comfort and console thing, you know?" he said sardonically. "Anything else encouraging to say?" 

"Sure," she smirked. "How about 'get off your lazy arse and quite moping'?" 

"Yes, that would be very 'encouraging'," Yohji grinned. "I've been doing far too much moping recently. But my arse is far from lazy; I'll have you know. It's tight and firm, and very nice, I've been told." 

Aya-chan laughed. "I'm sure. Look, I've got to go; I've got to get back to work. Maybe I'll see you around." She stood up, stretching slightly. "Bye, Yohji." 

"Goodbye, Aya-chan," Yohji waved vaguely. She'd called him Yohji. She'd called him Yohji several times. He'd never said his name was Yohji. He hadn't used his name when talking to himself. Yohji's eyes widened. 

A piece of paper slipped from her pocket and settled on the scant grass in front of him. It was a photograph of Weiss. 

Yohji stared at it for a second, then shoved it in his pocket and stood up. A few minutes to get his thought make into some kind of coherent order and put up some loose shields to discourage Schuldig, then off to find the German nutter. 

Schuldig was leaning on a fence next to a children's playground. There was a conspicuously large distance between him and any of the children or their parents, despite most of the equipment being quite close to Schuldig. The German had his elbows resting on the splintered fence and one foot rested on the bottom slat. His head was bowed and his man of hair kept Yohji from seeing anything of his face. 

"Hey," Yohji said softly, uncertain of the response he would get. 

Schuldig grunted. 

"Whatcha doing?" Yohji nudged him over and joined him in leaning on the fence. "I bet we look like two lecherous old men out to kidnap a child for some pornographic Internet ring." 

Schuldig snorted. He turned slightly and Yohji glimpsed one blue eye through the thick orange hair. It made a nice contrast. "You have no idea how accurate you are," he said with bitter humour. 

"Why stand here if all you're getting is a negative response?" Yohji asked curiously. "Do you need to be reminded twenty-four seven that you're not a nice guy, in case you forget?" It was a joke, but there was a sting to it. Schuldig glowered at Yohji, but the Japanese man was staring at the kids again. 

"The kids are nice," Schuldig informed him. "Simple." They watched one child bite another. "Cruel little bastards," Schuldig conceded, "Vicious, yes, but still simple. Did you have your 'think'?" The bitterness was back, the pain and cynicism and the deliberate cruelty. The words were meant to sting, and they did. 

"Yes," Yohji told him. 

"And…" Schuldig waved a hand around pointedly. 

"And what?" Yohji gave him an overly mannered innocent smile. 

Schuldig glowered at him. "Are you coming back?" 

"I told you before, I have nowhere else to go. Where the fuck do you want me to be, Schuldig? Is this some hint to get rid of me? 'Stay, stay, I need you, I'll go mad without you, I want to fuck you' actually means 'fuck off, Kudoh'?" Yohji frowned at him. "Bloody hell, I think I've got you figured out, and you go and change on me. It's get bloody frustrating." 

"How can you fucking figure me out if you can't figure yourself out?" Schuldig drawled, amused by Yohji's little outburst. "I'm a reflection of you, most of the time." 

"You're all fucking 'id', Schuldig, all instincts and drive and no caution or conscience," Yohji told him, but even as he said it he could see not only the advantages of the lifestyle but the similarities to his own. Jealousy, faint and primal and burning, tugged at him, trying to make him acknowledge this. 

"-" 

"Fuck!" 

Schuldig's jaw snapped shut and they turned to stare at the small child, holding a chocolate ice cream and grinning up at them. 

"Fuck fuck fuck! Bloody hell fuck!" 

Yohji's eyes narrowed. The child fell suddenly silent. Schuldig smiled, a predatory grin that spoke of things that go bump in the night and the monster under the bed, the tiger in the cave and the shark in the sea. Yohji leant forwards over the fence, snakelike in his fluid grace, eyes flickering between amusement and mocking anger, and then he licked his lips. With a wail the kid fled, still yelling it's new word, dropping the cone into the woodchip. 

"Was that a boy or girl?" Yohji wondered aloud. 

Schuldig shrugged. "All look the same to me. Legs, arms, head, stupid little hat. Generic child. How the parents tell them apart is a mystery." He chuckled. 

"I want an ice cream," Yohji stared forlornly at the melting brown goo abandoned on the ground. 

"Bit hard to nick, pet," Schuldig smirked. "You wanna try and shoplift from an ice cream van, be my guest." 

Yohji sighed. "I hate being poor. No, not poor. Poor is when you can't afford a TV or computer or car or whatever. We're way past that. We flew past broke several exits back. Skint, hard up, poverty stricken, penniless, destitute… Been and done all of them, and we're still on the way down." 

"Paupers. Now all we need are some princes to swap places with," Schuldig leant over the fence and stuck his fingers into the melting ice cream, sucking them noisily. Yohji gave him a disgusted look. 

"How do we get out of this, Schu?" 

"How did we get into it, Yotan?" 

The nicknames sent the tension soaring in ways neither expected. Some how, they weren't that comfortable with each other yet. A familiarity too far. Yohji turned so that his back was to the playground and he was leaning on the fence. Schuldig went back to his original posture, head down and back hunched. 

Finally, Yohji answered the question. "We kept waiting for someone to bail us out." 

"You know, you and I, us, I always thought we were the independent ones. The ones that, without Estet and Kritiker, could survive. Could look after ourselves." Schuldig stared at the melting ice cream. "I mean, we'd done it before, right? We had contacts, we had looks, we had confidence and skills and talents and everything we needed." 

"We buggered that up, didn't we?" Yohji dug into his pockets and produced a cigarette, one of the last the pair had. With an emotion bordering on reverence, he lit the cancer stick and inhaled deeply. Schuldig caught a whiff of the smoke and turned around. 

"Share," he demanded. Yohji handed the fag to him and he took a long drag before handing it back. 

Yohji could taste Schuldig on the cigarette, a warm moistness and indentation where he'd gripped it between his lips. Unbidden, a thought stole into his mind: 'It's almost a kiss.' 

Schuldig's body suddenly tightened, but Yohji was too intent of the nicotine rush to notice. "You know what?" Yohji almost purred. "We can. We do have the looks, the skills, the smarts. We can beat the system. We've both been the system." 

Schuldig raised one auburn eyebrow. "We've sunk a bit far," he said quietly, but his tone made it clear he wanted Yohji to correct him. 

"So, the only way is up," Yohji smiled, flashing incongruously white teeth for a man unable to afford toothpaste. Though, of course, he couldn't afford anything to stain them either. Schuldig was reminded of a time when he'd said the same to Yohji, and been snapped at for his troubles. 

"We can't get jobs," Schuldig said hesitantly. 

"Come on," Yohji teased, "'guilty'…" 

"'Guilty'?" Schuldig frowned. Was Yohji taking the piss out of his name? 

"We've been setting our sights far too low," Yohji told him. "Walk with me," he pushed away from the fence, not waiting to see if Schuldig followed. In fact, he didn't. For several seconds he watched Yohji, a gaunt mockery of his former self, but still attractive. His hips swayed and his shoulders were swept back, like he expected the world to stop and watch, just because Kudoh Yohji was walking. The confidence was cat like, and catching. 

Two kids were staring at him, a boy just touching his teens and a chubby girl of about eight. Both were holding ice creams, just bought. It didn't take much to persuade them they'd finished the cones and even less to swipe them from unsuspecting hands. Schuldig jogged to catch up with the blond man and handed him a cone. Yohji looked surprised and pleased. 

"Thanks," he smiled, "just don't tell me where you got them from." 

They made their way to the clearing Yohji had found earlier. Collapsing into the hollow made by some tree roots, the two leant against each other and the trunk and enjoyed the shade. Schuldig's hand took a life of it's own and wandered off, just happening to end up on the other side of Yohji. Much to Schuldig's surprise and delight, Yohji didn't yell or move or make him move, though he did give Schuldig a disapproving frown. 

A breeze rippled through the secluded area and goose bumps trickled along Yohji's arms. Schuldig took advantage of having an arm around the other man to offer some warmth. Yohji leant into him and slide long fingers into Schuldig's, their free hands entwining. 

"I guess you did a lot of thinking," Schuldig commented apprehensively. 

"You have a problem with pushing your luck," Yohji told him. Schuldig stiffened, expecting him to move, but Yohji just shifted position slightly. "Yeah, I did a lot of thinking. I didn't come to any concrete conclusions, but ice cream makes me very mellow towards your advances." 

"I'll remember that," Schuldig commented wryly. "Ice cream, check." He wondered if Yohji would like to eat ice cream off of him, if they ever reached a point where that sort of thing would be a viable option. For the first time, it was beginning to look like it might be. 

"Did you just sigh?" Yohji asked, playfully suspicious. 

"No," Schuldig lied easily. When it was obvious, when they both knew the truth, it felt okay to lie. It was like a joke. 

"I felt it. Just tell me this, good or bad sigh?" Yohji glanced back at the other man's pale pace. 

"Good," Schuldig admitted. "So, what's this big plan of yours?" He shifted Yohji's weight slightly, since all feeling in his left leg was disappearing. 

"We've been thinking too small. Shop lifting, pick pocketing… Just enough to survive and no more." 

"I didn't think you wanted any more than that on your conscience," Schuldig said cautiously. "You and the rest of Weiss have this weird thing about laws and being good and shit." 

Yohji gave a dry chuckle. "Not me, just them. Just them, Schuldig." The jade eyes were haunted by secrets too long kept and guilt too hard to forget. 

"You're a bit young to be this jaded," Schuldig slid his hand inside Yohji's shirt, resting it on the sunken stomach. Once, there had been lean muscles, but they were atrophied or absent. 

"Not jaded, cynical," Yohji pulled away to look at Schuldig properly, face to face. They sat opposite each other, nestled in the hollow amongst last year's leaves and next year's buds. 

"Nah, we're both jaded. And cynical. And complete bastards when it suit our purposes," Schuldig shrugged it off. "So's the rest of the human race. A handful are in denial, but we're all brutes. Even animals are better than us." 

"Rousing reassurance," Yohji smirked. "'You're shit, but so are the rest of us'. I like it." 

Schuldig chucked a small stick at him. "It's true," he said. "Just don't feel bad about it. You've done nothing compared to me." 

Yohji flinched. "I know," he said quietly. Inwardly, Schuldig winced. He'd blown it. No more mellow Yohji letting him touch and smile. It was better, of course. Yohji had to remember who was the villain here. 

"You haven't told me this master plan of yours yet," Schuldig reminded him, keeping the bitterness from his voice. "We have to think big, ja? Play to our talents? What are we going to do? Assassinate the president? The emperor?" Yohji chuckled despite himself. Schuldig smirked and continued, "okay then, we're going to take someone hostage? No? So what, am I thinking too big?" Yohji nodded, eyes sparkling. "Jesus, Yohji, I'm fresh out of ideas. What the fuck are we going to do, rob a bank?" 

"I knew you'd get it, eventually." 

Schuldig's head snapped up so fast he lost his balance and slid against the worn root into the leaf litter. The last of his ice cream went flying. He lay there, staring up at the chinks of blue, showing between the dark leaves of whatever tree they were under; Schuldig was no botanist. The air moved around his, fresh and damp, smelling of life and death and the promise of both. He breathed deeply before pulling himself back up. He found himself suddenly much closer to Yohji, who also seemed distracted by the green smell of the disturbed leaves. 

Schuldig lived on his impulses, and on other people's, but it was Yohji who leant in for the kiss. Jade eyes met blue, an echo of the leaves against the sky, and suddenly rough lips were pressed violently against each other, a quiet desperation shattering under the force of a passionate need. Schuldig grabbed Yohji head and pressed closer, one hand digging into Yohji's hair and the other sliding down his back to drag Yohji's chest and stomach against his. It was rough and fast and over too soon, and they parted gasping, lips bruised and cheeks flushed. 

Yohji's hand touched Schuldig's lips, slightly swollen and rough. "You need lip salve," Yohji said dazedly. Schuldig frowned uncomprehendingly, leaning in for another kiss. This one was a little less forceful, though only because Yohji parted his lips almost immediately, letting Schuldig's tongue explore the warm cavity. Yohji wasn't passive, not at all, in this, and he returned the favour. Schuldig's hand slipped further down his back to cup his buttocks, cool against Yohji's feverish skin. Yohji awkwardly put his arm around Schuldig's shoulders, uncertain what to do with another man. He kept his fists clench, arms crossed behind Schuldig, fighting the urge to place his hands on Schuldig's shoulders, on Schuldig's neck. Schuldig didn't notice Yohji's hands twitch. 

They broke apart again, breathing a little more normally. Yohji sighed and rested his head on Schuldig's shoulder, breathing in Schuldig's own scent. He smelt of sweat and cigarettes a cheap alcohol, and the leaf litter like living cologne. Yohji kissed the freckled skin, eyes close. He was limp in Schuldig's arms, content to relax against the other man. 

Schuldig's roving hand made it's way back up again, hugging Yohji to him gently. They sat like that for almost a minute, warm in each other's arms against a wind that as goring increasingly more biting. Schuldig could feel Yohji's pulse fluttering in his neck, pressed against his collarbone like a trapped butterfly. Slowly, Yohji pulled away. He closed his eyes, gathering himself, and then looked Schuldig in the eye. It brought a touch of a smile to Schuldig's lips. Even if Yohji's eyes held rejection, it was still better than avoiding his gaze. 

"I've never done that before," Yohji said conversationally. 

"Sure you did. When you were all suicidal?" Schuldig reminded him. He let his hands drop and dug his fingers into the leaves. He was beginning to feel very congenial towards these particular leaves. 

"Okay, but I've never initiated it." Yohji sat back as well. "I don't know what to make of it," he said candidly. "I just don't want you to make too much of it." 

Schuldig shook his head, smiling. "Maybe you don't know, but I do." Yohji gave him a questioning look. "It's up to you to figure it out," Schuldig told him. "Would ruin it if I told you what you were thinking." 

Yohji sighed. "Fine. So, we have a mutual attraction to deal with, on top of everything else. Just for the record, I have no intention of sleeping with you any time soon." Schuldig opened his mouth, eyes mocking, but Yohji interrupted swiftly, "no intention of fucking you any time soon," he corrected himself smoothly. "We'll just have to live with the tension." 

Schuldig chuckled. "I can if you can." 

Yohji stood up then, brushing himself off. He sighed when he saw the muddy stains on his trousers. He couldn't afford to clean them. The next few weeks would be dependent on keeping Schuldig clean. Yohji would just have to suffer the filth. 

"Huh? Why do I have to be clean?" Schuldig ignored Yohji's proffered hand and struggled to his own feet. 

"You're the telepath," Yohji said enigmatically. "Come on, we're about to have company. I'll explain more at home, as far as I can. I haven't worked out much yet. Hell, I only came up with the idea ten minutes ago." 

"It's really only been ten minutes?" Schuldig said incredulously. Yohji smiled and shook his head; greasy locks slapping against a dirty face, amused eyes hollow and dark against too pale skin. As a young couple made their way into the clearing the two men left, heading back to their flat. At some point during the journey, Schuldig's hand ended up in the small of Yohji's back. By the time they reached the block of flats it was comfortably inside the top of Yohji's trousers, and Yohji was returning the favour. 

next 


	6. 6

previous

A week later, Schuldig found himself smiling at the bank manager and fought to keep the sincere twist of the lips from becoming his trademark smirk. Actually, what he really wanted to do was sneer. The greasy little ball of lard in front of him was going to be cleaned out by the two of them, and he deserved it. Schuldig's lip twisted upwards and he slapped his hand over his mouth to prevent the balding adulterer seeing his reaction. 

"So, you would be on a minimum wage of…" Schuldig tuned out again, listening to the petty man's thoughts instead. 

'I won't hire him, not with that pretty little blonde thing. Four girls in a month, and your wife knows nothing. Good show, old man. Why go through this little charade when it's not some nice bit of arse? Not even female, for god's sake. Remember Suki? I remember what she did for me. She liked it dirty. Too bad she threatened to yell rape…' 

Schuldig's eyes narrowed. Wonderful, his new employer was a rapist and a murderer. Well, when they cleaned this place out Schuldig would be certain to get a shot or two into his head, just by accident, of course. He wondered how Yohji would take that proposition. 

Schuldig leant against the filing cabinet and reached out mentally for Yohji, who was standing in an alley outside, separated by a single wall. Yohji's mind was reassuring. 

"So, I'll give you a ca-" The tubby banker stopped in mid-sentence. Using Yohji as a base, Schuldig reached out and brushed a bead of sweat off the slimy man's slick forehead. "…A job. I'll give you a job," the man said dazedly. 

Sweat beaded Schuldig's own forehead. He needed to get out of here. He could feel a wall of thoughts like a tsunami, seconds away from coming crashing down into his head. Yohji was his base, his earth wire, his ground zero. After spending so long in such close quarters it was almost unimaginable that Schuldig was going to be spending six days a week away from him. An uncharacteristic fear gripped the German. The plan would fail. He'd go nuts. 

"When can you start?" the manager asked again. 

Schuldig blinked and tried to get a grip on himself. His head throbbed and speech and thought were growing more indistinguishable. 'Soon…' he thought he said, but the perplexed look on the little man's face made him realise his lips hadn't moved. "Tomorrow," Schuldig said aloud, touching his lips to check they were moving. 

'He touches his mouth a lot,' the manager observed. Schuldig was about to retort when it occurred to him that no matter how stupid the little man was, he wouldn't have said that aloud. 

'I have to go,' Schuldig told the small man. "I have" 'an appointment' "elsewhere." With that, he fled, leaving a very confused guy in a business suit trying to work out what had just happened. 

Yohji was waiting for him outside. Schuldig grabbed him, touching his face, arms, hair, anything that was left bare. Yohji gave a tolerant smile, but there was apprehension behind it. 

"You're not ready for this," Yohji murmured, taking one of Schuldig's hands between both of his and holding it. Schuldig flinched. "We ought to have waited." 

"You know we couldn't, Yohji." Schuldig sighed and pulled his hands away, tucking them into the pockets of his stolen suit. "A few more days and we're both out on our ear, and probably into the debtors prison. At least this way we actually have a salary coming in." 

"True. But if you go to pieces…" 

"I won't." Schuldig frowned. "Dammit, Yohji, I used to be good at this. I used to be the best. I've been worse off than this, and stayed pretty much perfectly intact. Why is it so hard now?" 

"Tokyo has the highest population density of any city in the world," Yohji reminded him. "You were with Schwarz for a long time. Perhaps the summoning?" 

"I think you hit it with the second one," Schuldig told him. "I let my shields slip. A lot. When things got rough, Crawford or Farfarello would bring me out of it." 

Yohji frowned. "Farfarello?" 

"Nothing like having your hand stuck in a blender to bring you back to yourself," Schuldig smirked. "This is going to work, Yohji. I hate that bastard in there. If for no other reason, I'm going to tough it out. You'd be amazed what vindictiveness can do as an incentive." 

Yohji smirked back. "I see. So the thought of food, comfortable living, all that, means nothing?" 

Schuldig opened his mouth but snapped it shut again. He'd almost said something very sappy about Yohji and making it all worth it whether the pulled it off or not. He wasn't certain whether to be glad he hadn't said it or scared that he'd thought it. It wasn't cynical, it wasn't jaded, it wasn't malicious. It even bordered on naïve and trusting. Not like Schuldig at all. But that wasn't what worried him. It smacked of dependence. Schuldig didn't appreciate being dependent on any man. Ever. 

"Are you okay?" Yohji tilted his head to regard Schuldig out of one eye. "You're being unusually silent." 

Schuldig grunted as people jostled him, feeling the millions of minds not as a wave but a pool now. A pool he could walk into, if he wanted. He'd known how to swim, once, and being afraid of the water didn't take away that skill. He had to do it sooner or later. Better sooner than later, before his nerve broke. Schuldig was growing increasingly aware that he was changing. The Schuldig of Schwarz had lost his edge, to a certain extent. The worst part was he wasn't sure whether he missed that harder Schuldig. 

He took a figurative deep breath and jumped. Yohji watched as his eyes glazed over, glassy and blank. Schuldig had frozen in the middle of the street. His eyelids fluttered, his eyes rolled, his lips twitched and a sweat broke out on his forehead. 

Suddenly three men chatting on the other side of the room turned to stare at Schuldig before executing sharp bows in unison. A girl walked up to Yohji and flashed him, apparently unaware of what she was doing. A child suddenly started talking German to his terrified father. An old woman started chatting up a teenaged boy, who flirted back. 

"The boys are back in town," Schuldig growled, so low Yohji barely heard him. The song had never had any particular meaning for him until that moment. When his eyes opened they seemed to glow from within, and Yohji recognised the Schuldig he'd tried to kill, time and time again. Fear stole over him like a cold shadow in summer. 

Schuldig was floating on the pool of thoughts, buoyed by his own ego. He'd done it. He was free again. He didn't need Yohji or anyone else. He was Schuldig, the guilty one, the bastard every one was scared shitless off, the guy who could own this town. Blue eyes glittered cruelly as he made the people around him to more and more bizarre things, embarrassing themselves and occasionally injuring themselves. He started to laugh. 

"Stop it," Yohji snapped. 

Schuldig froze mid-laugh and turned to stare at him. "What?" he asked, danger lacing the single word. 

"This, Schuldig, stop it. I don't like it." 

"And the world revolves around you, does it?" Schuldig's brows knitted as he started to move towards Yohji, slowly and sinuously. Yohji, to his credit, didn't move. "Come, Balinese," Schuldig spat the word and was rewarded by Yohji's flinch, "we don't always get what we want. Besides, this is your plan." 

"Make people do stupid things they don't want to? Which bit of the plan was that?" Yohji snarled. "Let them go, Mastermind. Shit, I thought you'd changed." 

Schuldig paused, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "I told you, Yohji. I told you what I was, who I was. I'm a bastard. I'm evil. I enjoy hurting people." 

"You enjoyed my company without hurting either of us," Yohji pointed out. "And you didn't tell me. You changed, Schuldig, just then. You lied to me, you lied to yourself. And now you've made those damn lies come true because you're scared to accept they might not be." 

Schuldig blinked, now utterly confused. He went to reach into Yohji's mind and find out what he was trying to say when Yohji paled. Yohji took a step back, then another, really afraid now. Within moments he was fleeing down one of Tokyo's busiest streets, leaving Schuldig and his puppets outside the bank. 

Next


	7. 7

Previous

Yohji didn't return to the flat that night. Schuldig lay alone on the bed, trying to enjoy the freedom of movement. It was cold, despite the balmy night, without someone curled beside him. The thoughts that permeated his surroundings didn't threaten to overwhelm him, but they hadn't for weeks now, not since he started living with Yohji. 

"You've proved your independence," a voice bit through the darkness. "So, are you going to find him and apologise?" 

Schuldig sat up. "Who-" he began when the door swung open. A familiar silhouette stood there, light flashing off of over polished glasses. 

"Long time no see, Schuldig," Brad walked into the room. He stopped after half a step, aware that he couldn't get any further into the room. "I know what you've been up to." 

"And?" Schuldig half sat, shoulders tense. He wished he hadn't pawned his gun for food. Suddenly being armed seemed more important than being empty. 

"You've managed what you set out to do. You're free. You're independent. He's sleeping under a tree." Brad tried to flick on the light, but nothing happened. "Jesus, Schuldig, how could you let yourself sink to this level?" he asked incredulously. 

"Don't know. It just sort of happened to me." Schuldig stood up on the futon, which made him the same height as Crawford. 

"These things always do," Crawford observed wryly. "I thought you might need this," he held a gun out to Schuldig, handle first, "if you're intending to shoot that son of a bitch in the head." 

Schuldig accepted it with an unusual amount of grace. "You're not dead," he said, feeling an idiot. He always felt like an idiot around Crawford. "I couldn't find you. I tried." 

"I know, Schuldig. It's taken me months to track you down as well. I was going to leave you my number…" Crawford smirked as the German, but Schuldig would not be stared down. 

"Things have been a bit rough, but they're looking up." Schuldig tucked the gun into his waistband. "Balinese has been useful." 

"Balinese has been invaluable," Crawford corrected, "and he still is. Go and find him, Schuldig. You need him." 

"No, I don't!" Schuldig snapped. "I need no one, nothing! I can do what I like!" 

"No you fucking can't! Shut the fuck up!" A distant voice called. Hiroko kept swearing until they both fell quiet. 

'Nice neighbours,' Crawford commented wryly. 'Are they all as soft spoken as her?' 

'Some are even quieter,' Schuldig laid on the sarcasm. It was alarmingly reminiscent of his early conversations with Yohji. 

'They'll come looking for the money,' Crawford warned. 'Keep it secret, keep it safe.' 

'You must take the ring, Gandalf!' Crawford snickered softly in the semi-darkness. Schuldig was reminded of what had attracted him to this man in the first place. The cutting sense of humour (though the previous conversation hadn't exactly been the most stellar example of his wit) and the completely unattainable attitude of the American used to tug at him like a lure. Schuldig frowned. 'Used to tug'. Not any more. 

"Go and look for him," Crawford sighed. "Things have changed, Schuldig. You've changed." 

Schuldig shook his head, not to contradict Crawford but to shake off the suspicion that the older man was right. "And what if I have?" Schuldig asked the darkened room. "What if I have?" 

"I can't answer that." Crawford took a half step back, and was out of the door again. "Kritiker are looking for old employees and new ones. I may be in touch." And with that, he was gone. 

Schuldig ran a hand through his hair, which he'd made a point of washing ready for his first day at work tomo- no, today. He was going to work, today. But first he was going to find Yohji. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out under which tree Yohji was sleeping. Schuldig walked into the clearing displaying more confidence than he had. It hadn't been a long walk, but he'd had time to think. Sure, he was fine without Yohji. Sure, his shields were back up and he had control in his own head again. But Crawford was right. He needed Yohji. He was damn lonely without him. 

"Leave me alone," a voice flowed across the copse. "Stay out of my head. Stay over there." 

Schuldig stared at the shadowed hollow from whence the voice came. It had never occurred to him that that was why Yohji had fled. He'd thought… he'd thought it was just the power, the cruelty, the memories it must have reawakened. Schuldig leant against a tree, arms folded across his chest. 

"I've been half in your mind, half out of mine for over a month, Yohji," Schuldig called across the dark clearing. "Why does it bother you now?" 

"It's different. Before it was, well, passive. You were going to hurt me yesterday." Slitted jade eyes glowed in the in the darkness like a cat's. 

"I was not!" Schuldig shouted, outraged. He pushed off from the tree and started towards Yohji. Those shimmering green eyes faded as Yohji pulled deeper into the shadows. 

"Yes, you were. I felt you. Crawling into my head, like you used to!" Schuldig stopped. 

"Like I used to?" Schuldig peered into he shadows. He could taste Yohji's fear like a sweet wine, like honey and yoghurt, sweet and sharp. "I didn't realise… I just didn't understand what you were trying to say. That was all." 

"I was trying to say no." 

Schuldig sank down in the leaves and dug his fingers into the composting mulch, trying to rouse the living smell he had last week, when they had sat there with ice cream and ideas. It smelt of death now. Dark and damp and decomposing. 

"Mindfuck," Schuldig said to himself. 

"Mindrape." 

"-" Schuldig curled up, surrounded by the smell of death and decay. "I told you," he murmured. "I warned you." 

"Yes, I suppose you did," Yohji said, the bitterness making Schuldig wince. 

"You tried to tell me that I lied to you, that I made myself the bastard because I didn't want to acknowledge that. Why would I lie to you? I'm a bastard. I tried to kill you. Why didn't you believe me when I told you that?" Schuldig started to crawl towards him. "I'm confused." 

"Same," Yohji smirked. "Go away. Stop getting closer," the fear remerged. 

"Not going to hurt you. Don't want to hurt you." Schuldig had stopped about two metres from Yohji. "I… I, I…" 

"You what, Schuldig?" Suspicious leant Yohji a confidence he'd lacked previously and he emerged from the shadows. "What? You… you, you…" he mocked. 

"I… need you," Schuldig admitted. 

"I know," Yohji said tiredly. "We've been through that. Without me you go mad. I keep you sane." 

"No! I'm free. I'm independent." Schuldig started crawling forwards again. "I'm in control of my own head again, Yohji. When I stopped, when I started making people do stuff, I was taking control back. I was reminding myself that even though I was scared of water I could still swim." Yohji looked blank. "Metaphor," Schuldig explained. "I don't need you to make me sane. I was fine, lying there in bed, without you." 

"So why are you here?" Yohji asked sullenly, torn between a desire to hurt Schuldig and genuine curiosity. 

"Because I need you." Now he'd said it once, it was easier to say. So what if he needed Yohji? Yohji needed him. It was so obvious now. "I miss you. I'm lonely without you. I need you." 

"…Miss me?" Yohji stared at him. They were bare feet from each other now. Green eyes met blue without flinching, and the sun crept over the horizon as they stared at each other. Yohji hadn't realised that it went both ways until now. He'd known Schuldig was dependent on him, but now that dependence was no longer necessary they were still unwilling to give each other up. The string had been cut that had tied them so close, but they didn't move. Needed each other, wanted each other, liked each other… Where was it going? 

There was a strange noise. It took both men several seconds to register and recognise it. Morning. Bells, cars, people. Morning. Like a switch had been flicked, the city was coming to life. 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, light filtering through the leaves. The clearing grew increasingly brighter and they could see each other better. 

"I have work," Schuldig said awkwardly. "Want to come?" 

Yohji chuckled. "You know, I almost do. But I have other stuff to do. Plans and blueprints stuff." 

"Of course. I'd almost forgotten why I was earning an honest buck," Schuldig stood up and offered Yohji a hand. Yohji ignored it and scrambled to his feet unaided. The two men wandered out of the park, not touching, but thinking of it. It had been uncomfortable in the small flat since the kiss, sexual tension saturating every thing they did. 

The acknowledgement that they wanted each other had been testing Schuldig's control to the extreme, and Yohji had been tense and agitated as he tried to accept this new side of himself. Things were only going to get worse, it seemed, until they got some real distance between them. Schuldig rubbed his face, aware that he'd stained the trousers of his suit with mud. Yohji looked broken. Ever since they'd found each other emotions had run high, and both men were exhausted, worn through with work and pain and mood swings. 

Schuldig didn't dread the separation now, rather the reunion later that day. Being with Yohji was a sure sign some emotion or other would take over, he'd be high on anger or frustration or lo- need, and like any drug he'd come crashing down again. He was used to this, with drugs, but the only chemicals in his system were manufactured by it. 

Yohji's hand brushed his, and Schuldig realised he was thinking much along the same lines. 

"We need to bring it forwards," Schuldig whispered. "A week's too long." 

Yohji considered for a second. "If I find what I want, we can do it tomorrow. It will be much riskier, though." 

"It's me we were worried about before, wasn't it? I'm up to it now. Hell, I need a challenge. We need somewhere to stash the cash, but we're potentially home free." Schuldig smirked at the early morning joggers and dog walkers. "What are you going to do with your money?" 

"Pay off my debts. I'll say, I don't know, I pawned something. I'll keep 'pawning' stuff 'til it's paid off, then buy somewhere nice. What about you?" 

"I'm okay for debts, overall." Schuldig shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll convince them I've paid them off, then get a car. I've missed my car. Oh, and somewhere to live. Bachelor pad." 

Yohji watched him. "Life is weird," he said with a grin. 

They parted at the gate and Schuldig found himself in a tiny cubicle in the bank. During the course of the day he managed to promote himself several times until he was in a position to enter the vault at whim. The customers bored him, he couldn't read and write well enough to do the paperwork, his fellow employees were nothing but sheep and the secretary didn't want to sleep with him. At the end of the day he pocketed someone else's key to the vault and hoped no one would think to check the records that night, when he wasn't there to keep them from noticing the blatantly obvious. 

Yohji spent the day in a public library, flirting and teasing the female staff, no matter how unattractive, until he gained access to local building plans and site maps. It took cunnilingus, the most Yohji could trust himself with when sex still made his hands convulse, with the matronly head-librarian, who in Yohji's opinion would have looked a lot better with less makeup and nicer clothes, to get hold of the bank's blueprints. Not even the most public of libraries would hand out a _bank's_ blueprints. He lied very creatively, something Schuldig wouldn't have done, convincing her that he was doing a university PHD on whether banks got more lenient planning permission, due to the security measures that had to be taken, compared with, say, florists. His poor clothes and lank hair convinced her he definitely was a university student. And as she was old enough to be his grandmother, she appreciated the attention he gave her. 

Schuldig and Yohji met on their way back to the flat. Yohji had memorised the floor plans, Schuldig had learnt the vault codes. They needed a method of removing the cash, a getaway vehicle. They needed to pick a time. 

Schuldig produced an answer. He could sneak Yohji in just before the bank closed. Once closed, the armoured van would come by the back to deal with the loose cash accumulated over the day. They would knock out the guards and disguise themselves to steal the van. It solved most of the problems. They would then need another van so that they could pull over and switch the money from one to the other. Schuldig would then drive on and take the armoured van to wherever it was supposed to go and confabulate his way through, convincing the staff that he'd actually brought the money. Yohji would take the cash in the other van and hide it in the apartment. The only hitch: security measures. If they needed magnetic cards or keys they could be in a bit of trouble. Still, hopefully the real guards would have them, so Schuldig and Yohji could steal them. 

Yohji had asked what confabulate meant. Schuldig told him it was what people did in exams. Make stuff up that sounded about right. 

It was early evening, but both elected to get as much sleep as possible. Schuldig collapsed onto the narrow bed, oblivious to the potential problem of oversleeping. His mind was lost in the previous night, wondering if Brad would put in a repeat performance. He wasn't sure what he'd do if the seer did. 

Yohji sat down next to him, hand curled in hair. "What are you thinking about?" he asked. 

"Hnh?" Schuldig sat up a little to give Yohji room to lie down. The Japanese man lay on his back, keeping the maximum amount of space between the two of them. Schuldig sighed and settled an arm around Yohji, warm and heavy. 

"Haven't had to ask that before," Yohji mused. "So, penny for your thoughts?" 

"Last night," Schuldig said without thinking. Yohji immediately got the wrong impression, and Schuldig's despondent attitude left Yohji confused and disheartened. 

"Which bit?" Yohji asked apprehensively. He kicked himself for it, but it did matter to him. He hadn't let someone get to him like this since Asuka. Oh, it wasn't the same. He wasn't willing to die for Schuldig, not by a long shot. They wanted and needed each other, and their complimenting personalities had turned this desire to be together into something bordering on genuine friendship. It would have been a real friendship if it weren't for the mutual attraction they felt for each other. It made life so awkward. Feeling Schuldig's erection pressed against his hip, Yohji sighed. They couldn't be friends when one party wanted to be lovers. Well, honestly, when both parties wanted it. But they couldn't be lovers either, though Yohji wasn't keen to advertise precisely why. 

"The bit when I decided to go out and find you," Schuldig replied. "And the bit just before." 

"Do you regre-" Yohji shut himself up. Enough self-defeating questions for one evening. Schuldig clearly wasn't feeling communicative, and there was no point tearing himself up about what he might or might not mean with each word. They both needed to be clear headed for the heist. 

"No regrets," Schuldig grinned. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at his friend. "I had a visitor. You know the bank manager? You think it would be okay if I killed him?" 

Yohji stared up at him. it took him a second to catch up with this lightening change of topic. "Has he done anything in particular?" he asked cautiously. "A murder charge would make us a hell of a lot hotter than a mere robbery." 

"Rape, murder, adultery, being an absolute bastard… Sort of guy who is too small to gain Kritiker's notice but too big to fall under the law." Schuldig let himself back down again, sliding a hand under Yohji's shirt to caress the hot skin. "I wouldn't ask if I thought you wouldn't agree." 

"No, you'd just go ahead and do it," Yohji observed wryly, and correctly. "Easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission, eh?" 

Schuldig chuckled. His hand teased a little hair, fingers brushing a nipple. Yohji tensed, but said nothing. Schuldig took this as an invitation and reaching his other arm behind Yohji, manoeuvring so that Yohji's head was resting on it. He nuzzled the join between neck and shoulder where Yohji's pulse throbbed hard and fast. 

"I thought we were doing this so we could get out of here, away from this," Yohji said tersely. 

"You want it, Yotan. You need it. It's been so long…" Schuldig purred. 

"Get off of me," Yohji said carefully. Something in his tone made Schuldig pause. Yohji was afraid. Well, that was to be expected. He'd never really done anything with a guy. Schuldig had every intention of being gentle but… Yohji wasn't afraid for himself. He was afraid for Schuldig. 

That distinction made Schuldig pull back. Yohji was clinging onto the futon for dear life. For Schuldig's dear life. 

"Scheisse," Schuldig whispered. "Gott, Yohji, I didn't realise. I mean, I knew, but I thought…" 

"You _thought_ the asylum cured all," Yohji said bitterly. "You _knew_ I was still tempted when I was around women. You _meant_ well, I don't doubt." Yohji sat up, drawing his knees into his chest, looping his arms gently around them. "Sure, Schuldig, I'm scared of us. But I'm not an idiot. I don't fight the future. It's going to happen, if we stay together any longer. But one of us won't survive it." 

Schuldig frowned. "If you had your hands full…" he suggested vaguely. He hadn't realised Yohji wanted sex. He'd thought… he'd thought Yohji was just nervous, 'like a virgin', and a bit homophobic. He hadn't thought Yohji was a serial killer. That had blithely passed over his head. 

"Schuldig, I'd strangle you. You think I haven't lain here night after night, trying to work out a way we could be together? If you tied me up, if I kept my hands behind my back, if I couldn't see… I can't, Schuldig. Go and find yourself some good lay in a seedy club. Quit wasting your time waiting for me." 

"Woah, back up there," Schuldig smirked. "You lie here lusting after me? How the fuck did I miss that?" 

Yohji chuckled. "You thought it was you, I'll bet. Come on, we need to sleep if we're going to pull this off." 

Schuldig gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah, because we're both going to be getting a lot of sleep after _that_ little revelation," he growled. " Come on, pair of handcuffs…" 

"No!" Yohji looked pained. He stood up and sat on the toilet, broken lid down. The glass between the shower and the room still hadn't been replaced, but it gave such a dismal trickle of water anyway it was obvious the glass had only been there for modesty's sake. 

"Now what?" Schuldig asked, justifiably annoyed. He couldn't understand why, if they were both so hot for each other, Yohji would let anything stand in the way. They'd find some way around this problem. 

Yohji shook his head, elbows on his knees. "I can't do bondage. Not after… everything." Schuldig frowned and bent towards him, sheet pooling at his waist to tent slightly over his groin. Yohji gave a half smile at Schuldig's naked torso, finally able to accept that this was what he wanted, what he lusted after. Schuldig gave him a questioning look and Yohji let him enter his mind. 

"I… see," Schuldig gave him a sympathetic look. "I hadn't thought of that. I guess… we've both been through a lot. It never occurred to me it would affect you... us." 

"It never does, Schuldig," Yohji said with a tolerant sigh. Schuldig crawled over and rested his head against Yohji's thigh. Yohji ran his fingers through the coarse hair. "I hate it! Everything! We work and we toil and we try, and how are we rewarded? With a dump like this, with this tension and frustration, with pain and bitterness. What is all this blood, sweat and tears for?" 

"Mud, debt and fear," Schuldig sighed. "Life's like that. It's like the bank; it pays you when you're rich and charges you for being broke." 

"I hate it," Yohji said sullenly. "It's driving me insane." 

"You and me both, pet." Schuldig nuzzled against Yohji's leg, kissing and nibbling the soft skin. Yohji groaned as Schuldig's hands nipped and teased his skin, tracing patterns across his upper thighs and abdomen, circling his groin, spiralling towards it. 

"Schuldig, stop," Yohji begged. "We can't. Schuldig…" The rest of his words were lost in a guttural moan as Schuldig's hands reached their final destination. Yohji gripped the toilet tightly, willing his hands to stay clutched to the white (well, creamy brown with brown-black cracks) porcelain. He whimpered as Schuldig's skilled hands were replaced by an even more skilled mouth. Yohji gasped as the hot, wet tongue traced down his shaft. Slowly, almost tenderly, Schuldig brought a gasping and trembling Yohji to climax. Yohji let go of the seat reflexively as his head arched back and his hands shot out of their own accord. 

Both Schuldig and Yohji's eyes were glazed and their breathing shallow, but Schuldig was also started to turn blue and make tiny choked sounds. Yohji's fingers gripped tighter, digging into Schuldig's windpipe. 

'Stop!' Schuldig reached out to Yohji with his mind. 'Gott, stop! Yohji, let go!' 

Yohji didn't stop. He lowered his head so he could watch the life slipping between his fingers, watch Schuldig clawing at those slender digits so firmly clasped around his neck, and watch the darkening face contrast with the orange hair spilling over his tanned hands. 

Suddenly, Yohji's eyes glazed. He removed his hands and sat on them. Schuldig scrambled backwards, pressing himself against the far wall, one hand to his throat. It hurt to breathe and he realised he was on the verge of blacking out. That last shred of concentration had gone into usurping Yohji's mind and body to make him let go. As Yohji came back to himself Schuldig lost his last grip on consciousness and slid gratefully into the darkness. 

Yohji stared at the unconscious form slumped against the wall; an already blackening circle of bruises ringing his neck like a choker. 'Choker…' Yohji's stomach lurched and he jerked from his seat so he could vomit into the dirty bowl of the toilet. 'I did it again. I did it to Schuldig. I did it again…' echoed in his head, the refrain repeating _ad infinitum. _

Yohji stood up slowly, head spinning. Turning around, he saw Schuldig again, still sagging against the off white plaster and chipboard. It was too much. With a strangled cry ('…strangled…') Yohji fled, heedless of the tears that streamed down his face or the sobs that escaped his throat. 

next


	8. 8

previous

Schuldig woke. Schuldig put a scarf on. Schuldig went to work. Schuldig smiled and nodded and handled money and pretended nothing had happened, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing whatsoever… 

The day drew to a close and Schuldig stared down at the paper slipping dryly between his chapped fingers. Yohji wasn't here. He hadn't come. The plan was off. Schuldig made excuse after excuse, hanging around the emptying bank long after closing, hoping against hope that Yohji would put in an appearance. Eventually the manager himself chucked him out ('why _did_ I hire him? He's not a leggy blonde girl') and Schuldig slumped through the streets, trying to lose himself in the crush of bodies. 

He was worried. No, worse than that, he was scared. He was scared for Yohji. And, well, cared for him, too. It came as a nasty shock, in some ways. On the other hand, it wasn't too bad, almost pleasant. Because, as a telepath, he knew Yohji more than returned the sentiment. No wonder he'd gotten so worked up over almost throttling Schuldig and run off… 

Schuldig strode into the clearing in the park as light began to fade from the sky, and was rewarded by a distinct lack of Yohji. He stared around the clearing and called Yohji's name a handful of times, despite knowing perfectly well the other man wasn't there. It became a little hard to breath and his chest hurt and stomach tightened. Schuldig sat down sharply. He'd been so certain… 

Yohji stared at the shop. Empty. Closed. The grate was down. Everyone else had moved away and moved on and here he was, staring at a flower shop hours after closing time, clutching an old photo like it was his last life line. 

In one of those rooms, up there, he had lived. In one of them Aya-chan now lived. When he had lived there she was barely more than a name, a lifeless rag doll to be kidnapped and re-kidnapped by the enemies of Weiss. Now she sold their flowers. It was all too much to grasp. 

Yohji wandered around the side. There was the garage. Omi's scooter was still there, plastered with the shop logo, but his motorbike, Ken's motorbike, Aya's car, Yohji's car… all gone. Things had changed. 

Yohji kicked a stone violently and it skipped across the pavement to bounce off the grating in front of the shop. He flinched as the metal rattled and crashed, thankful he hadn't broken the glass window. A handful of petals lay on the pavement, remnants of the day's sales. Yohji picked one up and rubbed it between his fingers, enjoying it's silky smoothness. 

He'd been running away from it all day, but his head throbbed with unconsidered thoughts. Every time his mind wandered back to the previous night he would forcefully send it down another track, refusing to dwell on almost kil- 

There he went again, dreaming of undoing what cold not be undone. Yohji sighed. He couldn't keep this up. At some point he was going to have to deal with what he had done. 

"I strangled Schuldig," he said aloud, voice husky with emotion and anguish. He took a deep breath, then said again, "I almost killed Schuldig." 

"Ouch," said an increasingly familiar voice. He turned to see Aya-chan, take away bag in hand. "You know, you talk to yourself way too much," she commented. 

Yohji shrugged. "I have problems," he said with an ironic grin. 

"I'll say. So, Schuldig's the guy you've fallen for, right? Come to terms with that yet, or is throttling him some kind of repression technique?" She offered him a barbeque rib and watched him closely as he toyed with it. 

"Oh, I've dealt with my feelings for him. And I haven't 'fallen for' him, I just lust after his hot body." Yohji grimaced. "Okay, I could have put that more eloquently." 

Aya-chan chuckled. "Yes, your instant denial was very convincing. So, what's this about trying to kill him?" she made it sound nonchalant and casual, but Yohji's head spun with the weight of the guilt he was carrying. 

"I… have this problem. I strangle people during sex." Aya-chan snorted and immediately looked apologetic enough for Yohji to consider continuing. "I spent some time in an asylum, not a fun place, and I'm supposed to be all better. But Schuldig and I… we… he… um, how old are you?" 

Aya-chan was caught off-guard by this and frowned at him. "Ask a tricky question. Do you want my date of birth or the number of years I've 'lived'?" Pain laced her usually cheerful tone. Yohji winced. 

"Sorry, it's just I think you need to be eighteen to hear the rest of _this_ story," he smirked at his own words. "There's nothing you can do to help anyway." 

Aya-chan looked disappointed but didn't disagree. "You carry a lot of guilt," she pointed out. 

"Yeah, I do," Yohji said, his tone begging Aya-chan to challenge that. 

"Talking through it might help," Aya-chan added, but Yohji shook his head. "Well, you can't avoid him forever, so you're going to _have_ to talk about it," she said crossly. 

"See, my idea was to get very drunk and hook up with some lady of legal age and never go back there again. I like my idea. All I need is… the money to… finance it… which you're not going to give because you think it's a bad idea," Yohji finished upon seeing Aya-chan's look. 

"A terrible idea," she said heavily. 

They stood there in silence for a moment. Yohji tossed the bone from the barbeque rib away and gave her a brief wave. He had started to walk away when Aya-chan called after him, "if you need a place to stay your room is still free." Yohji faltered in his long stride, but didn't look back, didn't say anything. Aya-chan sighed and shook her head at his retreating back and turned to go inside. Wedged in the crack between door and wall was a piece of paper. 

She put down the take away to pull it out. It was the photograph she had left Yohji. He'd written something on the back. 

'Last known phone number' was scrawled in characteristic loops, followed by the number of a nearby district. Aya-chan's heart skipped a beat when she realised exactly whose number it was. 

next


	9. 9

previous

It was a Blues bar. Well, that night it was. Sometimes it was a strip joint, sometimes it was a live house, but tonight it was a blues bar. Schuldig stared around the hazy room, lit by pink and blue neon sculptures, a piano drawling a slow rhythm in the corner while a smoky-voiced girl sang about pain and heartbreak. Schuldig could feel the music vibrating throughout the room, running through the floor and up his legs. Shabbily chic men and women lounged in soft plush seats around round tables and others chatted at the bar. High slits and low necklines were the fashion among the women, open shirts and cigarettes characterised the men. There was an air of disreputability about the place, the shirts were expensive but stained, the dresses gaudily promiscuous. Schuldig felt oddly at home. 

He sauntered up to the bar, allowing the music to define his pace, and ordered something cheap yet chic from the tired looking bartender. The girl on the stool, singing her heart out, wore a gold sequined evening dress that caught the lights and blinded the audience, and Schuldig felt an odd affinity with her. He convinced her to glance his way and he winked at her, holding up the glass. When her set was finished she'd come and have a drink with him, and perhaps he could forget Yohji in the soft curves of her body. 

She finished her set and hopped off of the stool to languid applause. The punters began to move towards the bar, everyone buying second or third rounds for their table. Schuldig lost sight of his lady in the crowd, but he could 'feel' her oozing her way towards him. 

It was a Blues bar. Well, that night it was. Sometimes it was a strip joint, sometimes it was a live house, but tonight it was a blues bar. Yohji stared around the hazy room, lit by pink and blue neon sculptures, a piano drawling a slow rhythm in the corner while a smoky-voiced girl sang about pain and heartbreak. Yohji could feel the music vibrating throughout the room, running through the floor and up his legs. He felt at home here. This was his world, his love, his pain being sung by the gowned girl. 

He had enough to buy a single drink, but what Yohji craved was a cigarette. The girl hopped down from the stool and started to push through the crowd towards the bar. Yohji intercepted her with a disarming grin. 

"Buy you a drink?" he purred. She smiled up at him through lowered lashes, diamante glued delicately to each one. 

"Two offers in one evening," she commented, her voice much deeper when speaking than when singing, "what a lucky girl I am." 

Yohji gave her a perplexed grin. "What ever he's got, you know I can better it," he teased. 

"My, aren't we full of ourselves? Hey, haven't I seen you here before?" She paused to get a better look at him under a neon blue twist. 

"It's been a while," Yohji admitted. He tilted his head so she'd see his best profile, something that made her laugh. He did it so naturally, so unconsciously, that she knew he'd done it for hundreds of women. The light caught his glasses like a pale splash of tears and his eyes glistened with an unnatural glow. 

Schuldig glanced over the heads of the bar's other occupants. The advantage of living in Japan was generally being able to see over pretty much everyone else. He recognised the girl, and he recognised the man silhouetted against the light. His stomach lurched. 

Yohji and the girl made their way to the bar. She sat next to Schuldig, but Yohji blanched when he saw the German. Schuldig studiously ignored his reaction and offered the singer a drink, which she accepted without comment. After almost a minute standing and staring Yohji swallowed both his pride and his nerves and sat on her other side. She offered him a cigarette and he spent the last of her money buying her another drink. 

Yohji and Schuldig didn't exchange a word as long as the girl was between them, but Yohji was surprised and amused to find Schuldig pressing money into his hand beneath the bar so they could keep up the rivalry. She flirted with both of them, accepting drinks and doling out fags to both men. 

The singer, whose name was Luci, pressed a hand to her head. "Sorry, I'm a bit dizzy," she murmured. 

"That's because the world stopped spinning when you looked into my eyes," Yohji purred, brushing hair from her eyes. She gave him a small smile. 

"I… I'm going to the bathroom. You gentlemen stay put 'til I get back, ya here," she told them both. When she tried to get off the stool she slipped and stumbled. Schuldig grabbed her and she slumped into his arms. 

"I didn't realise I'd swept you off your feet already," he growled. She blinked at him and stood up unsteadily. She stumbled away towards the small rooms at the back of the club, leaving Yohji and Schuldig to descend into an uncomfortable silence. 

Yohji fell into a relentless depressive internal monologue. 'I blew it. I should have stopped him when I could. I knew what was going to happen. I'd missed it so much, though, it was so hard to resist when his mouth… No, not going to dwell on it. It felt good, though, too good. Maybe if he'd been terrible at it I wouldn't have wrapped my hands around his neck. Is it possible to give bad head? Well, of course, but Schuldig always stuck me as the sort of guy who no matter what you do he's had worse, and I bet he'd like it painful. I wish I could control myself better. I did better than I've done before, though, right? Sat on my hands, that was a good idea. Not good enough though. Heh, story of my life, not good enough. Do I owe him head? I don't think… I don't think I'd strangle him. Perhaps we could do that. I could satisfy him, even if he can't satisfy me. God, I want him so much. Sitting there, smirking. He always smirks. I hadn't noticed that before, but his 'blank' face is a smirk, when he's thinking or doesn't want people to see how he feels, he smirks, even when he thinks he's alone he smirks. Is a smirk supposed to be that attractive? It's all I can do not to jump him here and now…' 

'…Go on then. Jump me.' 

Yohji's head snapped up. "You," he spluttered. Schuldig smirked at him. "You were listening," Yohji snarled, blushing despite himself. 

"I can't help it. Yohji, I want you too. Sitting here, flirting with her, pretending it's you, pretending everything you say is meant for me…" Schuldig shook his head. "You didn't come today. I thought we were going to do the job." 

Yohji was glad with the change of subject, unsure how to respond to Schuldig's preceding remark, until he realised he had no idea what to say to this either. "I couldn't… I thought you wouldn't want to see me. I certainly didn't," Yohji added bitterly. 

"You keep running away," Schuldig pointed out. "This isn't going to be the last time you run from something you think you can't deal with. Have a little faith in yourself, Yohji. Have a little faith in me. Come on, I call myself 'guilty'. What can you that do I haven't?" 

Yohji stared at him, considering this. "At least you can control your own actions," he said roughly. He wondered if he'd really misjudged Schuldig that badly. Schuldig honestly liked him, and he honestly liked Schuldig. Schuldig was willing to forgive Yohji for almost killing him. Yohji swallowed back the guilt that came with knowing he wouldn't have been nearly as quick to forgive Schuldig. Hell, he was still trying not to judge him on everything he'd done to Yohji while with Estet, but Schuldig had no problem with what Yohji had done at the same time. 

Yohji wasn't sure he liked the idea of a man calling himself 'guilty' being a better person than he was. 

"Bullshit," Schuldig moved to the seat next to Yohji and hooked an arm around him. "I just have less moral high ground to stand on. I've done _it all_, Yohji. How can I judge people for doing something I've done myself, and enjoyed it a hell of a lot more than they did?" Yohji shrugged and Schuldig felt his bony shoulders shift under the thin synthetic material of his shirt. He nestled his head in Yohji's greasy hair, and Yohji breathed in Schuldig's distinct smoke and alcohol scent, holding the other man tightly to him. Both men suffered for their sins, and it was hard to say which felt worse. 

When Luci came back after a prolonged trip to the toilets she was disappointed to find both of her paramours had disappeared. They had staggered out of the dim room together, trying to convince each other and themselves that they weren't the scum of the earth and didn't deserve to live on God's green earth. Somewhere along the way, they managed it. 

next


	10. 10

Curled together on the slim futon, Schuldig spooning Yohji, the two men drifted into an uneasy sleep. Tomorrow they would take the money. The day after they would both be gone. Chances were, they'd never see each other again. No regrets, right? No regrets… 

Schuldig let Yohji in a side door during his afternoon break. Yohji secreted himself in a storage cupboard, which Schuldig locked so no one would find him. The next few hours passed in tense anticipation for both men, and they stayed in contact to keep each other up to date, and well, amused. A dark cupboard isn't exactly the most entertaining of places and Schuldig had rotaed himself into the background bureaucracy of the bank. 

The bank closed as the sun set and the employees began to leave. Schuldig joined Yohji in the cupboard while they waited for the secure van to arrive. Today, of all days, it was late. Traffic, apparently. The driver had phoned ahead. 

Yohji was leaning against a shelf, staring moodily at the crack of light traced around the edge of the door. Schuldig was somewhere behind him, shuffling through the pens and pencils to see if there was anything worth nicking. There wasn't, so he turned his attention to his fellow 'cupboard-mate'. 

Yohji jumped as he felt something wet slide along his neck. It was hot and rough and accompanied by short pants which sent waves of heat across the back of his neck that contrasted sharply with the shivers dancing along his spine. It didn't take a genius to figure out it was Schuldig's tongue. Yohji pushed him away forcefully. Schuldig was undeterred and grabbed Yohji's wrists, holding them down at waist level while he kissed the other man, forcing his lips open with his tongue and roughly exploring his mouth. Yohji groaned and responded in like, pressing his hips to Schuldig's. 

Schuldig drew back to catch his breath, mouth sore and bruised from the force of the kiss. Yohji licked his lips hungrily, but caught himself. "We can't do this," he said, pained. 

Schuldig laughed, a low, predatory sound. Had they been enemies, Yohji would have suspected a trap. It was the laugh of someone who knows something you don't know, in particular, that they've won. A chill shot up Yohji's spine. Fear mingled with anticipation to send adrenaline chasing teasingly through Yohji's limbs. 

Schuldig dove in for another kiss and was surprised by Yohji's readiness. He let Yohji take control of the kiss while he tried to work out how to get their clothes of without letting go of Yohji's hands. Yohji's tongue ran across his teeth and teased the top of his mouth, pressing against his own. Schuldig let out a faint moan as Yohji ground their hips together, feeling his erection bump Yohji's. 

Yohji pulled back, eyes wild. There was limit to how far they could go before stopping would cease to be an option. They were very close to crossing that line. 

"Do you trust me?" Schuldig growled. "Do you trust me to keep myself safe?" 

Yohji stared at him for several second, pulling his hands away from Schuldig's. Did he trust Schuldig? Green eyes met blue in the darkness and Yohji nodded. 

Schuldig grabbed Yohji's shoulders and turned him around, pressing him into the wall of the cupboard. One hand reached down to fumble undone the flies of Yohji's jeans while the other curled around his chest to sneak inside his shirt and tease one of Yohji's nipples. Yohji collapsed against the wall for support while Schuldig worked on freeing his own erection. 

Yohji whimpered when he felt Schuldig's hot groin against his bare buttocks, and his fists clenched. Schuldig grabbed one of Yohji's hands and pressed it firmly over Yohji's own penis. The other arm was pinned by Schuldig's, which was still exploring the inside of Yohji's shirt. 

Schuldig let go of Yohji's hand, which was now jerking up and down on it's own, and scrabbled one handed through the office supplies, trying to find something that would double as lubricant. Yohji noticed the frantic search and guided Schuldig's hand to the back pocket of his falling jeans. Schuldig smirked at the small tube in the strip of light from around the door. 

"Chocolate?" He purred, chuckling. Yohji shrugged and grinned over his shoulder. Schuldig spared that grin a quick kiss and went about the final preparations. It was hot and hard and fast, Schuldig slamming up into Yohji and Yohji slamming down onto Schuldig as the two men finally found a release for the frustration and tension that had plagued them for weeks. In a matter of minutes it was all over. 

Schuldig kissed Yohji's hair and neck and shoulder, tracing a line down his right side. Yohji leant back against him, gasping for air. He held up his hands to the light. There was a row of half moons along the heel of the palm of one hand, the hand he hadn't been using on himself. Blood was beginning to fill the crescent cuts. If that hand hadn't been pinned those cuts would have been on Schuldig's neck. 

"I would have killed you," Yohji said dully. Schuldig shrugged as he struggled with his trousers. 

"They'll be here any minute," Schuldig told his dazed companion. "Ready to jump them?" Yohji stared at him for a second before forcing his mind back to the job at hand and nodding. The smirk of Schuldig's face let him know the innuendo hadn't been entirely unintentional and he realised with a jolt he was blushing, ever so slightly. 

The door to the cupboard slammed open, making both men start. The tubby bank manager was standing outside, one arm around his secretary, glowering at them. 

"You're fired," he snarled at Schuldig. 

"Funny you should say that," Schuldig said calmly, drawing the gun Brad had given him and planting a shot in the centre of the bastard's forehead. The shot echoed loud in the corridor and the corpse slumped backwards, the back of the head blown out. 

The secretary didn't scream. "About time someone did that," she commented. The two men stared at her. She smiled at their confusion. "I'll get rid of the body, shall I? Hey, aren't you Balinese? I've seen your picture in the files!" 

Yohji gaped at her. "You're Kritiker?" he finally gasped out. 

"Well, yes. Rex." She tilted her head to study Schuldig, but her eyes suddenly blank and Schuldig dragged Yohji down the corridor. When she came back to herself she was certain that the redhead was who she'd thought it was, but it was too late to do anything about it. She hadn't been certain when he'd noticed the man before, but the large chunk of missing memory was a bit of a give-away. Besides, if one of Kritiker's all-time top operatives was banging the telepath in a supply closet, he couldn't still be evil, right? 

The van had parked and two men were emptying the safe into a specially made suitcase. If someone tired to steal it the clasp that kept it attached to the cuff would break and it would spew red smoke everywhere, staining the money and alerting everyone to the thief's presence. Similarly, if a person somehow managed to steal it without breaking it away from the cuff and tried to force their way in, the red smoke would start pouring out. 

The suitcase was carefully deposited in a safe in the back of the van. Both guards froze suddenly and started taking off their clothes. Schuldig and Yohji pulled on the uniforms as fast as they could and tied the two men to a radiator. Yohji took the time to knock them both out so Schuldig wouldn't have to waste mental energy keeping them insensitive to what was going on. Both Schuldig and Yohji hung on to their normal clothes as well. A guard's uniform would be begging for trouble once someone noticed the money was missing. 

The thieves climbed into the van and started for the depot, the location of which Schuldig had gleaned from the unresisting minds of the guards. There was a tense silence between the two men, but it lacked the awkwardness of previous ones. Yohji was the first to break it. 

"Who gave you the gun?" 

Schuldig glanced across to the Japanese man slumped in the passenger seat. He debated what to say. "I thought you said you trusted me," he ventured finally. 

Yohji flinched. "Wrong answer, Schu," he sighed. 

"Brad. Brad gave me the gun. He turned up while you were dosing at the park and gave me the gun and told me where to find you. Satisfied?" Schuldig bit out. 

"Crawford? Oracle?" Yohji stared at him. "I… see." 

"Do you? What exactly do you 'see'?" Schuldig snarled. Yohji shrugged, turning to stare out of the window. 

Schuldig glanced towards the back of the van. So many security measures. You couldn't open the door to the back with the side door open; you couldn't open the side door with the door to the back open. Had to lock the case to your wrist. So many cards and passwords and keys to open everything. The main vault was even more complicated. Schuldig wondered whether to just forfeit that part of the plan and abandon the van, taking the case whole. 

No, that would never work. They needed to take the money. If they didn't leave the suitcase the guards at the depot would get suddenly, horribly, suspicious. 

"Hey, Yohji, climb into the back," Schuldig gestured with his head. "I'll call out the code so you can get the money. Still got your other clothes?" 

"Sure," Yohji drawled. He crouched in the back, surrounded by claustrophobic reinforced steel walls, feeling like he was in the safe itself. Schuldig listed a series of numbers that Yohji obediently twisted one of the locks to. The next opened with a key and the third was a dud. The case sprang open, money in neat rows and bundles. Yohji's eyes widened. Packing the money into a sports bag he climbed back into the front. Schuldig paused by an alley and Yohji leapt out, clutching the sports bag. He changed in the shadowy alley and started to make his way back to their flat. 

Schuldig drove calmly to the main bank, giddy with triumph. The guy at the gate stared at him. 

"Hey! You're not-" his mouth stayed hanging open and his eyes glazed. The gate opened and Schuldig drove through. 


	11. 11

"Is this the police? Yeah, I'm Kai Reiji, and I work for the bank of Tokyo. My partner and I have been knocked out and our uniforms stolen. Two guys have taken our van, they've stolen the money. 

"Yeah, tall red head, Caucasian, and a guy with long blond hair. They both looked pretty desperate. Poor, rough, you know. I don't know how they managed it. I mean, I lost control of my body, right, like I was being contro- 

"I know it sounds like bullshit! Look, these guys have stolen enough money to buy several apartment blocks, and around here, let me tell you, that's a hell of a lot of money!" 

A guard approached the van and reached into the back. Normal procedure. Schuldig forced himself to sit still and concentrate on the task at hand. He had to convince a score or so of people that he belonged here. He wished they'd been doing this in Europe, or that Yohji had been the telepath. He stuck out like a sore thumb. 

There was a yell and Schuldig caught a wave of confused panic. Guards started to crowd around the van. Schuldig climbed out and joined them around the back. 

Shit. 

Yohji had left the case open. 

There was the sound so twenty rifles being cocked. It was not a pleasant sound by any account. Schuldig stared around. There were too many variables to control. There should have been two guards in the van. Schuldig wasn't Japanese. Many of these guards knew the two Schuldig and Yohji had taken out, and would have recognised the usual guys on sight. A call had just come through; this particular van had been hijacked. 

Schuldig decided to cut his losses and run. He paused long enough to make them forget how to use their guns and what he looked like and fled, leaping over the high security fence like an Olympic hurdler. The barbed wire shredded his trousers but he kept running. Shouts and sirens were going off now, people running and yelling and guns going off as confused guards tried to work out what they were holding. 

Schuldig kept running, ducking into an underground station and leaping onto a departing train, not bothering to check where it was headed. Anyone who had seen him running immediately assumed it was because he'd been on the verge of missing his train. 

The carriage he was in swiftly emptied, due in no small part of Schuldig's last-ditch efforts. Physically and mentally exhausted he collapsed across a row of seats. He'd left his work suit in the bank van, but he still had his gun. He glance down at his clothes and grimaced. The crotch of the trousers was shredded and sweat stained the jacket. 

A young man walked into the carriage, stripped and sat down quietly in a corner. Schuldig put on his clothes and took the time to tie the young man up. Better than leaving him to be accused of the bank robbery. Schuldig gave a wry grimace. Yohji must be wearing off on him. 

Speaking of Yohji, that assassin had a lot to answer for. Assassins weren't supposed to make those sorts of mistakes. Schuldig sighed as he flopped back down into a seat. Well, even if Yohji had closed the case, it would only have bought him a few more minutes. Fate had conspired against them. The train slid to a stop and the doors snicked open allowing a multitude of tired workers to swarm in and Schuldig to clamber out. He snatched a hat from one guy and stuffed as much of his own flaming hair as he could under it. 

He groaned when he saw where he was. It was a good hour's walk back to the flat. He didn't even have enough money on him to hail a taxi. He dug into the stranger's pockets and produced a handful of change. He wanted to call Yohji and ask for a lift, but it occurred to him that not only did Yohji not have anything to give him a lift in but he didn't have a phone to answer Schuldig's call on. He resigned himself to walking. 

It was a tired, dusty and sore Schuldig who crawled up the concrete steps to the top floor of the rancid block of flats. The smells of vomit and beer and leftovers seemed particularly pungent, the plaster particularly flaky, the built up layers of filth particularly intrusive. Schuldig was desperate for a shower and some sleep, but he knew he wouldn't get either tonight. He reached the flat shortly before the police did. 

'Our neighbour called and told them he'd overheard us planning a heist,' Schuldig signalled Yohji wearily. 'We have a matter of minutes to hide the loot.' 

'Where?' Yohji asked frantically. They both stared around the tiny room. It was almost bare of furniture. Prying up the floorboards would only give them a view into the flat below. Highly illegal and the cause of the occasional death in the apartments, but the chipboard was thick enough to hold most people, which had staved off any enquiries. The door of the stove had fallen off of its hinges a while ago and the toilet cistern had no lid. The futon was too thin to hide anything under; it would mold itself over whatever was put under it and would disguise it like a sheet over an elephant. 

Schuldig collapsed onto the futon. It made a soft whistling noise as air was forced between the failing seams and the scent of dead insects and old cigarettes wafted in a gentle breeze up the wall. The piece of paper pinned over the hole in the wall flapped gently. Both men slowly turned to stare at it. 

Footsteps echoed up the stairs as Schuldig and Yohji shoved wad after wedge of money into the space between the walls, not really caring about how they would get it out again. The space that was supposed to be full of insulation was filling up with money. 

The door burst open just as they smoothed the paper back down. It occurred to Yohji that as the only hiding place in the room it would be the first place the police searched, but apparently it didn't occur to them. Schuldig, drenched in sweat, rubbing his head, trembling with fatigue, smirked at them. 

There were more men than the room could conceivably hold, even if they all lay down on top of each other. Yohji and Schuldig were hustled out of the room while two men went through it, lifting up the futon and peering around the toilet. It didn't take them long to search the whole room, which was a blessing. Schuldig was leaning heavily on Yohji, struggling to concentrate on the questions the police were firing at them. 

"Are either of you employed?" No. "Where have you been for the past four hours?" Here. "Do you have anyone who can back that up?" Hiroko-chan. "What were you doing?" Having sex… "With… with the young woman?" No. "I… see. Please accompany us to the station for further questioning." No. "That will be all. Thank you for your time." You're welcome. "Sorry to bother you…" 

The confused men and women started to walk away. Yohji waved and smiled, Schuldig struggled to remain standing. They slumped back into the room. Yohji lifted the paper and smiled down at the cash, bundled between rusty pipes and torn cables. Schuldig lay back on the futon, arms tucked behind his head. He had one final task before he could rest his overtaxed mind. 

The following day their next-door neighbour was taken to an asylum, gibbering and drooling. 

The sun hauled itself over the horizon, dragging Tokyo's finest out of bed to join it for another reluctant day in the city. Schuldig and Yohji, now gentlemen of leisure, ignored it. 

Schuldig rolled onto his side, propping himself on one elbow. One pale hand brushed blond hair out of shadowed eyes, still closed against the hazy brightness of the morning sun. One of his companion's eyes cracked open to reveal a jade slit that ran appreciatively along Schuldig's body. Schuldig's impressively naked body. 

"No," Yohji murmured. "Schu, we had this discussion." 

"Sure we did, then we had sex," Schuldig smirked down at the Japanese man. "Come on, everything's okay now. We've got our money, we can pay off our debts, life is peachy. The proverbial happy ending." 

"No, Schu, it isn't. It's not okay." Yohji sat up, anguish scrawled across his face. "Sex doesn't make it okay. If you hadn't trapped my hands you would have died in that cupboard. Believe what you like, but that's the truth. There's no guarantee that next time I won't manage to turn around and strangle you. I don't want you to have to take over my body to stop me." 

Schuldig frowned at him. "I thought… I figured one good shag and that would be it. You'd be cured. If you can have sex without strangling me once, why shouldn't it happen again?" 

Yohji laughed, a sorrowful sound. "Why indeed?" he murmured. "Schuldig, you're right. We could fuck for decades without anything happening. But that doesn't mean I'm cured. One day I won't be able to control myself, one day you won't be able to control me, and then there'll be one less German in Japan." He stood up slowly, stretching sinuously. "Schuldig, I don't want to take that risk. No matter how much I want you," he reached over Schuldig and started pulling his share of the money out of the wall, "no matter how much I need you," he shoved it into a bag and put on his boots, "no matter…" he leant in the doorway, looking back for the last time, "…how much I love you, I can't take that risk." 

And he was gone. 


	12. Epilogue

Mud, Debt and Fears Epilogue 

Schuldig stared at the wide screen television. The 'one hundred breast nude games' was on; featuring topless beauties taking part in events that were unlikely to ever appear in the Olympics, much to the loss of the official Games. Schuldig sighed, flicking over. Once he might have snorted at the absurdity, or smirked at the ludicrously outrageous events, but an odd apathy had stolen over him in recent months. Not even bare women wrestling in mud could capture his attention these days. 

Oh, he had it all. His apartment was beautiful and close enough to the sea that Schuldig woke to a gorgeous view from his king sized bed each morning. The furniture was plush and the fixtures elegant. An entertainment system took up an entire wall of a bachelor pad that was huge by Japanese standards. A bit of creative banking had left the money rolling in and Brad occasionally called to give him tips about the stock market. Beautiful women flocked to him. 

Schuldig hit mute on one remote and play on another. Blues filled the room to match his mood. Surreptitiously checking he was alone, despite the ridiculousness of the notion he might be otherwise, he stood up and began to dance. Slowly at first, swaying gently at the hips, then, as he grew more immersed in the music, with vivacity and abandon rarely seen in the German any more. He sang along with the husky African American girl, launching into an air guitar solo when appropriate. 

Schuldig caught sight of a reflection in the mirror and spun around, but no one was there. He sighed. He'd been jumping at shadows for months now, seeing Yohji in every window and puddle. Regret was a new sensation for him, and everything he did was coloured with it. He'd hear something or see someone and run up, almost embarrassing himself before his mind caught up with the person's and he realised it wasn't Yohji. 

All he wanted was to say 'I love you too'. 

There was a knock at the door. Schuldig frowned and turned down the music. Brad wasn't due to drop by for another week and Nagi had called him only that morning. That was the sum total of everyone he knew currently living in Tokyo. There was another knock, more impatient. Schuldig sauntered cautiously over to the door, drawing his revolver and standing to one side of it. 

'I hope he's in. I hope he's not. Oh god, what am I doing? What if he's not here? What if this is the wrong place? What if he is in? What am I going to say?' 

Schuldig lowered the gun. It couldn't really be… 

'I'm going. I can't stand this!' 

"Wait!" Schuldig flung the door open. Half way down the corridor a man stopped. A man with dyed blond hair, a cropped t-shirt, low-riding black jeans, sunglasses and a unique watch. Yohji turned around. 

"You cut your hair," was the first thing Schuldig could think of to say. 

"Yeah," Yohji ran a self-conscious hand through the light blond spikes.

"You… want to come in?" Yohji nodded. 

It was awkward as hell. The music kept playing, slow and sensuous and mournful. Yohji followed Schuldig back into the apartment. Schuldig waved around vaguely. "Um, tour. Bedroom, main room, bathroom. All done! Want a drink?" 

"Sure." Yohji smiled. Schuldig fetched them both a beer from a fridge tucked in a little kitchenette near the door. "So, I converted you?" 

"Huh? Oh, yeah, the music. I guess so. Suits my moods recently." Schuldig collapsed into a leather armchair. Yohji perched on the arm of another and the two men stared at each other. The music continued to pour from speakers concealed strategically about the room. It didn't make the silence any less awkward. 

Schuldig closed his eyes and leant back. In all of his regret he hadn't thought to consider what would happen if he was offered a chance to make things right. He didn't now what to say, how to say it, and, well, where to begin. Here was Yohji, apparently equally unprepared. What to say? 

_How are you? What've you been up to? Where do you live these days? Seeing anyone? I love you too… _

"I love you too," Schuldig muttered, unaware he was speaking aloud. 

"Oh thank God!" Yohji blurted out. Schuldig snapped out of his reverie. 

"Scheisse! I didn't mean to say th- really 'thank God'?" Schuldig sat forwards, apprehensive and hopeful. "I… do you still… love me?" he asked quietly. 

"Hell yes," Yohji grinned lazily, suddenly at ease. "Schuldig, I'm no more 'cured' than I was six months ago, but I've been drowning in regret since I walked out of that room. I'll never be able to live with the guilt of killing you, but I can't live with the pain of not being with you, of not knowing how long it might have lasted. Even if I kill you tonight, at least we'll have tonight. That is, if you want to?" he gazed at Schuldig imploringly. 

"Hell yes," Schuldig echoed teasingly. "We'll work around it, Yotan, somehow. Even if it means total abstinence, I want to be around you." 

Yohji looked aghast. "I don't, not if I have to be celibate! It was hell when it was just physical. Throw in all this love stuff and I'll be back in that asylum in a matter of minutes. We're physical people, Schuldig. We need that level to our relationship. I'll just have to learn to live with handcuffs, or something. Schuldig, understand me: I didn't come here for a friendship. I want to be your lover. If we're both dead by the morning, so be it. I can't just be friends again. I want to touch you, to be with you." 

Schuldig chuckled. "If we're so dependent on touching, what are you doing all the way over there?" 

Yohji grinned suddenly and sashayed over to curl around Schuldig. He rubbed his cheek against Schuldig's, nuzzling him until their lips met, mouths already open. The kiss was long and passionate yet restrained. They were testing the as yet unestablished boundaries. Schuldig smiled against Yohji's mouth. Establishing those boundaries was going to be fun. 

They pulled apart for air. Yohji worked on unbuttoning Schuldig's shirt while Schuldig pulled Yohji's cropped top over his head. "Yohji?" Schuldig purred, "do you trust me?" 

Yohji pulled back. For all their talk of love, there was still an element of mistrust between the two men. Both hurt, both desperately lonely, both scared… trust was a great deal to ask. It meant dependence. It meant vulnerability. It meant pain, as far as experience told them. But without trust, it couldn't be love. Just caring, just a weak friendship and overwhelming lust, just a screwed-up reliance on each other. 

They'd had this conversation before. Yohji had said 'yes', but he hadn't meant it. Or rather, he had, but he didn't trust himself. Now he was being asked to trust Schuldig in his trust of Yohji. It was a difficult request, when Yohji couldn't trust himself. 

"Yes," he said uncertainly, eyes screaming 'no'. 

Schuldig reached into Yohji's mind. He couldn't shut off the trigger without risking damage to Yohji but he could suppress it like he did memories. It would require concentration and only worked as a short-term solution, but it was better than wearing a metal collar so Yohji couldn't hurt him. Schuldig's lips quirked. Okay, maybe he'd do that anyway. 

Yohji collapsed on to him, mouth nibbling at his collarbone and nipping the soft skin at the base of Schuldig's neck. Schuldig moaned and ran his fingers along Yohji's bare back, tracing his spine first up, then down, into his trousers. Yohji squirmed as Schuldig brushed his tailbone and cupped his buttocks. Both men had put on much needed weight and Yohji was toned and muscular. Yohji turned his attention to Schuldig's nipples while Schuldig worked on undoing both men's jeans. Hooking his arms under Yohji Schuldig was pleased to find it was almost a struggle to carry him to the bedroom, Yohji's legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Schuldig didn't particularly like skinny men. 

They collapsed together on the bed, Yohji kicking off his trousers. Schuldig scrabbled in a draw to produce lube and condoms. Yohji studied the foil packages with amusement. 

"We haven't bothered with those before," he pointed out languidly, sprawling naked across Schuldig's bed like a model. "I'm clean if you are. The asylum insisted on a check-up and you're the only person I've been with since then," he admitted candidly. 

Schuldig considered for a second and chucked the condoms back into the draw. "I'm clean as a whistle," he smirked. "Just as well, huh?" 

Yohji sat up, all 'come-hither' smile and seductive eyes. "My turn on top," he growled. Schuldig shimmied out of his jeans eagerly and moved towards Yohji, wrapping his arms around the blond and tousling his short hair. He smelt good, clean and smoky, and Schuldig could feel his erection brush Yohji's. 

Yohji moaned and pushed Schuldig into the mattress, straddling him so he was pinned down. He licked a finger and ran it down the centre of Schuldig's chest, leaving a cold trail. Schuldig grabbed the offending digit and stuck it in his own mouth, sucking it hard. Yohji responded by sliding backwards and sucking Schuldig equally hard, but somewhere _entirely_ different. 

Gasping and panting Schuldig stared up at Yohji. "I want you in me," he begged, unashamed of being reduced to pleading. He'd never thought he'd be so desperate for another man after years on the streets as a young boy. Yohji brought out the inner virgin, the naïve and trusting boy, in the cynical and jaded sadistic killer. Schuldig hooked his legs over Yohji's shoulders. 

Schuldig came quickly and as his internal muscles tightened and constricted Yohji felt himself drawn to a climax as well. Schuldig stared at the ceiling, hips raised off the bed by Yohji's. Yohji withdrew slowly, eyes wide as he surveyed Schuldig's spent body, lean chest heaving and flat stomach rippling with the recent exertion. His attention switched from Schuldig's body to his own hands. They had started to twitch and he was visibly restraining himself. Schuldig was too wrapped up in the afterglow to notice as Yohji began to bend over him, leaning with a hand on either side of Schuldig's head. 

"Hey lover," Schuldig murmured silkily. Yohji froze. He'd been moving his hands closer together until his wrists brushed Schuldig's neck on both sides. "Lie down," Schuldig patted the bed beside him. "I have to go clean off, but you stay right here." Schuldig went to move and found himself trapped by Yohji's stiff body. 

"Sorry," Yohji muttered painfully. "I…" 

Schuldig smiled calmingly. "Yohji, it's okay. I trust you, ja? Just lie down and close your eyes." Yohji swallowed. It took effort, but he managed to relax his arms enough to lower himself on top of Schuldig and then roll off. Schuldig chuckled. "See, now you need to be cleaned off as well." He clambered off of the oversized bed and wandered into an en suite bathroom. 

Yohji stared at the ceiling. Both of them were alive. Score one for Yohji. Well, for Schuldig, because he'd repressed Yohji's urge to choke the life out of him. But at the end, that had just been him. Yohji had stood up to himself and won. A smile tugged on Yohji's lips as Schuldig reappeared with a damp cloth. 

Schuldig curled against him, wiping Yohji's stomach and chest tenderly with the flannel. Yohji yawned widely; relaxed in a way he hadn't been since his days of living in the flower shop. He dug his heels into the mattress and arched his back, stretching like a cat. Schuldig smirked and tickled his stomach, making Yohji curled up around the offending hand, his back to Schuldig. 

Schuldig smiled and kissed the back of Yohji's neck, spooning him like they had in the flat. He chuckled and shared this thought with Yohji, who told him sleepily to shut up and squeeze him. Schuldig obeyed happily. 

It had been a long time since either man had been happy. Clean, wealthy and safe, they slept. 

End. 


End file.
